Children of the Candy Corn
by cornpony
Summary: Felix takes a wrong turn in the Sugar Rush castle and ends up in the dungeon, where he makes a horrifying discovery. Prisoner or not, they shouldn't treat another character that way...something's wrong, here...
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** implied Hero's Cuties (Felix/Calhoun), mild gore

* * *

The party didn't look like it belonged in a ballroom, but then again, Princess—no, wait—_President _Vanellope never was one for following the standard.

She had hired the best DJ setup available from the _Dance Dance Revolution X2 _cabinet. A bespectacled gent with half his head shaved manned the setup, turning knobs and pressing buttons to control the lights without so much as looking up from his computer screen.

On either side of the ballroom, round tables with plush stools were set up for the guests to take a rest, and long buffet tables overflowed with sugary treats and drinks, both alcoholic and regular. Wynchel and Duncan, the two donut policemen of _Sugar Rush_, cast wary eyes over all hands that neared the punch bowls, ensuring none of the younguns snuck any booze into their cups.

"This sure is a huge party!" Fix-it Felix shouted over the music to a bubblegum woman on the opposite side of the refreshment table. She had a can of pineapple juice in one hand and a bottle of Sprite in the other, pouring little sloshes of each into a heart-shaped bowl.

"Yeah," she shouted back, dabbing at her sweating forehead with the back of her wrist. "I can barely keep up with making these drinks, I'm telling ya."

"I can imagine," Felix said. "With all these people here…"

And there _were _a lot of people there. Counting the candy citizens of _Sugar Rush_, which admittedly took up the majority of the partygoers, there must've been over a thousand characters present. Felix was surprised the air conditioning units were holding up. He'd like to take a look at their blueprints, he thought.

The bubblegum woman reached under the tablecloth and put the juice can and Sprite away. She gave her mixture a stir, then reached back under the tablecloth for something else.

"Oh, shoot," she muttered.

Felix, who had been people-watching while he was waiting for her to finish mixing her drink concoction together, turned his attention back to her. "What's the matter?" he asked her.

She raised up an empty bottle of Absolut for Felix to see. "Outta vodka," she announced. She sighed deeply. "Guess I'll be going back down to the wine cellar." Again, she wiped the sweat away from her forehead.

"I can do it for you," Felix offered. It was obvious, he thought, that she was tired, and he wasn't doing anything important. Just waiting for another grown-up drink, is all. His date for the evening had gotten caught up in her own game, something he didn't quite understand about a perimeter breach, so he was solo that night. "Truly, I don't mind to."

The bubblegum woman was quick to take him up on his offer. "Okay," she said, nodding enthusiastically, "that'd be great if you'd do that for me. Just don't tell President Vanellope I asked you to, okay? I might get in trouble."

Felix flapped a dismissive hand at her. "She won't mind if I do. No worries."

"You know where the wine cellar is?" she asked him. He shook his head. She gave him directions, which were pretty simple: out the ballroom doorway, to the left, all the way to the end of the hall.

"Got it," he said.

"And if we don't have any more Absolut, just get whatever kind is left," she yelled to him.

"Can do." He gave her a curt nod and departed the table, beginning to weave through the sea of people dancing and mingling in the ballroom.

The hallway was so much brighter than the ballroom that Felix had to squint while his eyes adjusted to the light. He hadn't realized it was that loud in there, either. The quiet was kind of refreshing.

There were a few other characters out in the hall, taking a breather, it seemed, but for the most part he was alone. He went to the right, as the bubblegum woman had instructed, and walked all the way to the end, where a heavy iron door greeted him.

Felix tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He could tell it wasn't locked…it was just jammed, somehow. He put his ear to the keyhole, listening to the mechanics within as he jimmied the handle again.

"Hmm," he muttered to himself. "I don't know what's the matter with it, but…" He grabbed his golden hammer from his tool belt. "I can fix it."

He gave the door handle a gentle tap with the head of his hammer, then tried opening it again. Whatever had been wrong with it was fixed now—then again, he knew it would be. He slid his hammer back into his tool belt and walked inside.

Even though it was dark inside, he knew he was at the head of a staircase, and he didn't want to try and navigate them without a light. He pawed blindly at the walls until he found the switch. _Click_. Electric lights fashioned to look like wax candles popped to life. As he descended the stairs, he noticed that the handrail was dusty, whereas the rest of the castle had been scrubbed to immaculate cleanliness. Well, Felix thought, this room wasn't really that important, and probably didn't get cleaned as often.

But as his feet left the last step, he knew something was wrong. He wasn't in a wine cellar at all. He must've misheard the bubblegum woman's directions, or maybe she'd told them to him incorrectly. Either way, he was in…

"The dungeon," he muttered under his breath. He'd been there before, and not too long ago, either. But there was definitely something different about it. As soon as he'd left the stairs and entered the main chamber of the place, an overwhelming metallic smell hit his nostrils. He decided he wouldn't question it. It was none of his business. He turned on his heel to leave, but he paused when he heard something.

He couldn't quite make out the sound, but it wasn't a pleasant one; it was a combination of ragged breathing, sobbing, and stifled moaning. Felix's arms and neck broke out in goosebumps when he realized he was not alone in the dungeon.

His Good Guy nature was nagging at him to investigate. Someone was obviously in distress, by the sound of it, and what kind of person would he be to just leave? Then again, this was the dungeon, and whoever was locked up was there for a reason. But it just didn't sit right with him. It'd be one thing to hear someone, but for them to sound like they were in so much _pain_…

In a way, he knew he should leave President Vanellope and her prisoner to their own devices, but he knew he'd never live it down if he didn't look into things.

All of the cell doors were ajar, save for the one on the right-hand side, at the very end. As he stepped closer, the metallic smell grew stronger. Felix felt his heart hammering in his chest. No, he thought, that wasn't normal.

He couldn't see anything inside the only closed cell door. There was a small window cut out of the door, but it was up too high. There was a ring of keys hooked to a nail, he saw, on the far wall, but he wasn't about to simply unlock the door. That would probably not be wise, since he wasn't sure who—or what—was on the other side.

So he did the only thing he could really think of to do.

"Hello?" he called. "Um…you okay in there?"

There was a guttural gurgling noise, followed by what sounded like the spitting of phlegm.

"Look," the voice said softly. "If ya here to"—more gurgling, spitting—"if ya here to torture me, those little brats already got it"—a haggard breath—"got it covered."

Felix's breath hitched.

_That voice._

"Turbo?" he said, eyes wide.

It sounded like the person inside was trying to laugh, despite the pain they were in. A coughing fit and a mumbled moan followed.

"Yeah," was all the figure inside said.

Now Felix was confused. This was almost too much to comprehend. There was Turbo—as in, back in the 80s, when the arcade was still new, there was Turbo. Then Turbo…_went_ Turbo, and killed himself in the process, except he somehow lived, actually. And he took over this game Felix was standing in, _Sugar Rush_, except it wasn't _him_-him, it was King Candy-him. Then King Candy…the Cybug incident was a mess in and of itself, but…King Candybug, as everyone had termed the strange purple creature King Candy had morphed into when a Cybug swallowed him up, died when he flew into the Diet Cola Hot Spring eruption. Felix had seen it himself. Now King Candy was…where? Turbo was in that cell. Felix would know that voice anywhere.

But all of that didn't matter, at the moment, because—

"Did you say something about _torture_?" Felix said.

Again, Turbo sounded like he was trying to make some kind of laughing sound, but to Felix, it sounded an awful lot like blowing bubbles into a drink with a straw.

"Hey, you—sound familiar. Have—have we met?"

"A few times," Felix replied. "I'm Fix-it Felix, Jr., from the game _Fix-it Felix, Jr._"

"Oh, yeah," Turbo said. "I remem—I remembah you, we used t—used to drink together sometime."

"You sound like you're in a lot of pain."

"'A lot' would—wouldn't even—touch it," Turbo said. It was becoming harder for him to talk, Felix could tell. "If you c—if you could see me right—right now, you'd—puke."

Felix grimaced. Turbo or not, he hated to hear anybody sound like that. Then again…apparently Turbo was a pretty manipulative guy, to put it lightly.

Well, Felix thought, he'd just have to see it for himself. He jumped up and caught the ledge of the small window cut into the cell's door. He pulled himself up and took a split second to take a readying breath before he peeked inside.

But it didn't do him any good. It was way too dark in there to see anything. The light from the main dungeon chamber only illuminated the first two feet of the cell, and that didn't help him. Now that his face was in the window, however, the metallic smell was a million times stronger, enough to make him want to gag.

"Are you…bleeding?" he asked through the window.

Turbo tried to laugh again, but it was clear that the effort pained him. "Yeah. Among other things. It's too—too dark to see, huh? I'd move closer t—to the light, but those little—fuckers got me chained to the wall." In response, he waggled one of his chains feebly, by the sound of things.

Felix dropped himself down from the window ledge. He tried to collect his thoughts.

So, Turbo was definitely bleeding, there was no doubt about that, and more than likely chained to the wall. Was that call enough for emergency? He could understand locking Turbo in the dungeon, and maybe even chaining him up to the wall, but…why was he bleeding?

And he sounded like he was in an immeasurable amount of anguish—whether or not that was a ruse was yet to be seen, though, he reminded himself. He was kicking himself for not bringing a flashlight. All good handymen always carried a flashlight wherever they went, but he'd swapped his regular tool belt for his snazzy suede one, since he was dressing up for the party, and all he had was his golden hammer.

He wanted to open up the cell door with that key on the wall so badly, being the Good Guy that he was, but he knew he shouldn't. His intentions weren't to _free_ Turbo, merely to check on him and see what was going on, but he doubted he could fend Turbo off if this was all a trick, and Turbo tried to fight him to get free. Plus, it wasn't exactly his place to be snooping around, but…if someone really was in that much despair…Turbo or not…

Then an idea hit him. What he _really _needed was someone who would give him a second opinion on this matter. A fellow Good Guy who'd share his sympathies, maybe. Someone who'd easily be able to hold their own against Turbo, if the need arose.

Someone…taller.

"Just get—it over with, wouldja? You're—killin me with sus—suspense." Turbo coughed gruffly, spit something heavy onto the floor. Felix winced.

"I'm not here to…torture you," Felix reassured him. "In fact, I'm not supposed to be here at all." He briefly recounted the story of the party, of the bubblegum girl, how he was actually supposed to be in the wine cellar and not the dungeon. "But now that I'm here and I've discovered your troubles, I'm thinking I want to help you, if it's as bad as it's sounding in there."

Felix waited for a response, but he heard nothing. He went on. "I'll be back, hopefully before the end of this party, so I don't look suspicious coming back at so late an hour. I need to bring some…reinforcements, I s'pose you could say."

Still no response. Either he didn't have anything to say to that, or, Felix thought, he could've passed out.

"If you can still hear me," Felix called a little louder, "I'll be back shortly, I really will."

As he sped out of the dungeon and made a beeline for the exit tram that would take him back to Game Central Station, he couldn't believe he was doing this. Turbo didn't really deserve his compassion, he knew, but no one should be in that amount of pain. As he rode the tram, he tried to get his thoughts together, tried to think of something good to say to the gal he was heading over to meet. The more he thought about it, the less convinced he was that she'd share his point of view. For all he knew, torture was normal in her game, he thought with a grimace. But…he knew there was a lot of good inside her, for sure, so maybe she'd help him out.

Before the tram even came to a complete stop, he hopped out of it and sped off to the _Hero's Duty _entrance. His date for the evening had said she was too busy to come to the _Sugar Rush _party, but maybe she could make time for this. Oh, he hoped she could.

* * *

**Author's Note: **If anyone's been keeping up with my other story, "The Visitor," please know it's on hiatus for now. The past few chapters were far too forced, and the out-of-characterness I was writing (Turbo especially) was sucking my soul dry. So I've started a new fic! I've got lots of ideas for this one so hopefully it'll be better and appeal to a wider audience, even.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings: **Hero's Cuties, pretty heavy gore level and yucky stuff in general.

* * *

It didn't take long for Felix to find Calhoun—in fact, it didn't take but a second. She was standing near the entrance to _Hero's Duty_, a hand on her hip, neck craned upward. She was frowning, too, and it was obvious what about. There was a sizeable jagged hole in the ceiling, the metal twisted and curled. It looked to Felix like it had been gnawed open.

"I'm guessing a Cybug did that," he said as he walked through the entryway.

Calhoun's stern face softened for a brief moment as she smiled at him. "You guessed right," she said. "And we can't find it."

She turned to one of the three soldiers standing nearby. "Has Area Five been searched yet?"

The soldier on the far left punched a few buttons on the device in his hand, a crazy thing Felix couldn't even begin to imagine the functions of, with all the antennae and wires hanging from it. "Not yet, Sergeant."

"You two get on that," she said, pointing to two of the three. "Adams, do you think you can fix this hole?"

A homely-looking woman looked up at the hole and nodded. "Well," the woman apparently named Adams said, "this isn't what I usually do, but I think I can handle it…I can at least solder a piece of sheet metal over it."

Calhoun's shoulders relaxed. "Wonderful. Wonderful, wonderful."

She turned her attention to Felix. "You have great timing, I think I've got everything taken care of. For now, at least. How was the party?"

"Well," he began, wincing a little. It was obvious she was already under a lot of stress, but he didn't really know what else to do. He recounted to her how he'd accidentally made his way down to the Sugar Rush dungeon and what he'd seen there.

Calhoun nodded as Felix told her the tale, but she looked skeptical.

"I think I'd have to see it to believe it," she said. "I've seen stranger, but it sounds a little sketchy to me. Sounds like Turbo might be pulling the wool over your eyes."

That was possible, Felix thought. He hadn't been able to see anything inside the cell, after all, because it was way too dark. Turbo might be putting on an elaborate act—something that was definitely not out of the racer's comfort zone—in the hopes that his cell door would be opened to investigate, and he could make an escape.

"Well, if we're going to see what's going on, I'll need a few things," Calhoun said. She beckoned a hand in Felix's direction. "Let's walk and talk."

She led the way down a hallway, walking slower than her usual pace for Felix's sake. It went without saying that her legs were a lot longer than his, and he'd be sprinting to keep up if she held her usual gait.

"So I was under the impression Turbo was dead, were you not?" Calhoun asked him.

"I'm just as surprised as you are," Felix said. "I wonder how he made it out of that…whatever you'd call it…diet cola eruption alive, you know?"

"He had to've had a respawn code programmed into the game," Calhoun said. "No telling how many times a Player ran him off a cliff, or something—he's probably died and regenerated lots of times over the years."

Felix wanted to bring up the fact that he was under the impression that, when Vanellope was finally able to cross the finish line at the Random Roster Race, everything was set to rights. That was including all of the code Turbo had programmed into the game. In theory, wouldn't it just completely erase Turbo from existence? But that obviously hadn't happened. Turbo was still in the _Sugar Rush _dungeon. Wasn't he?

He didn't voice any of this because the two of them had reached their temporary destination—a small supply room located just before the entrance to the cafeteria. Felix had noticed the door there before, on his way to said cafeteria, but hadn't even thought to question what was in it. Now he knew.

Calhoun grabbed a large, gunmetal-black rucksack and began filling it with things she grabbed from the supply shelves. Felix couldn't be too sure, but a lot of it looked like ammunition, and two things were definitely some kind of firearm. He saw a harpoon gun and extra line go into the bag, for sure, some more small containers with Land knew what inside. Lastly, she threw a large spool of paracord and something folded and made of cloth into her bag.

"You never can be too prepared," she said, apparently noting Felix's questioning countenance.

"Oh!" Felix said. "Speaking of which…" He scanned the shelves' contents. Surely there was one somewhere…yep.

But he couldn't reach. Of course. Everything was just too big for him here. He pointed at the top shelf. "We need flashlights. I was really wishing I'd had one when I was down there. Could you please…?"

She grabbed them and threw them in among the rest of the junk. "Good thinking, soldier," she said, giving his shoulder a punch (which actually hurt quite a lot and made Felix's eyes water, but he was able to keep a straight face). "Maybe you ought to join our ranks." She shouldered the rucksack and led the way back out into the main hall.

"Do you think you'd have some of this fancy armor small enough to fit me?" Felix said. How he wished he could offer to carry his gal's bag, but it probably weighed three times as much as he did.

"It's all custom-made, we can getcha some," she said. She flicked the brim of his hat down into his eyes. She loved doing that to him, for some reason. Had it been anyone but her, it might've gotten annoying, but he was grinning like a loon as he straightened his cap back into its proper place.

The girl Calhoun had called Adams was now standing on the second rung of a folding ladder, a black protective mask over her face, blowtorch in hand. It looked to Felix like she was trying to melt away the hard edges of the hole, to smooth it out for aesthetics, probably. He didn't know a whole terrible lot about metalwork—not his forte.

"Adams," Calhoun called.

Adams lifted the mask away from her face, her thick glasses askew. "Yeah, Sarge?"

"I'm going out," Calhoun said. "If anybody needs me, it'll have to wait. You and Kohut hold down the fort while I'm gone."

"Got it. I'll ask questions later." Adams flicked her mask down to her face and gave Calhoun a thumbs-up.

For Adams to be so casual with Calhoun, she must've been a friend. Felix smiled. Calhoun needed a female friend amongst all these gruff men she was always surrounded by. It'd be good for her.

"To the tram we go," Calhoun said. "Let's move out."

**{*}**

"You don't think people will be, uh…wondering why you have that huge backpack?" Felix asked Calhoun as they walked toward the castle.

"Nah," she said. "People don't ask you why you've got your fancy hammer all the time, do they?"

"Oh," Felix said. "Good point." People probably wouldn't think anything of it, then. Which was good, because they needed to draw as little attention as possible.

"Alright, Fix-it, you lead the way from here," she said as they made their way through the huge castle doors, held open for them by two peppermint gents.

Again, there was hardly anyone out in the main hall, other than a few sweaty people taking a break from partying. Hopefully, they wouldn't run into anyone they knew. Felix casually made his way down the hallway to his left.

The further they walked, the sparser the people became, and when they reached the dungeon door, there was no one in sight. A small blessing, Felix thought with an inward sigh. He tried the door. It was still unlocked from when he was there an hour prior.

He flicked the light on and led the way down, Calhoun following close behind him. As they descended the last stair, Calhoun hummed a sound of agreement.

"Yep," she said, "that's definitely the smell of blood. Can't fake that, at least."

She was ahead of Felix now, walking to the end of the dungeon to the last cell door, where Turbo was allegedly locked. She unshouldered her rucksack and fished a flashlight out of it.

"Good thing you thought of these," she said. "I think they would've slipped my mind. Lemme just take a peek through this window, here…"

She clicked on the flashlight, which emitted a clean white beam. She shined it through the tiny window at the top of the cell door and looked inside.

Her hand faltered a tad, something that might've gone unnoticed, but Felix saw. His stomach fluttered.

"My God…"

"What is it?" he said anxiously.

She didn't answer. She was shining her flashlight all over. He didn't press her. Her eyes grew wider, her lips slightly parted.

"Can you hear me?" she called into the cell.

There wasn't an immediate response, but she waited.

"Little bit," came the reply, not much more than a faint gurgle of a voice.

"Shit," she muttered. She turned away from the cell window, cleared her throat. She kneeled down on one knee, her mouth at Felix's ear level, to whisper to him.

"I don't think this is one of Turbo's stupid tricks," she murmured. "There's no way he could…I think he's really…" she sighed. Felix had never seen her lost for words like that. He was getting worried.

She sighed softly. "We'll have to get him outta there."

In a way, Felix was relieved. He was afraid she might be in favor of keeping Turbo locked up in there, no matter what state he was in. Then again…for Calhoun to want to get Turbo out of there, he must be in pretty rough shape…

"There's a key on the wall over there," Felix said, pointing to the item in question. Calhoun nodded, straightening herself back into a standing position, and grabbed the key. She wasted no time in unlocking the cell door. She opened it a crack before staring back at Felix.

"I don't think you should look," she said.

"That bad?" Felix said quietly. She nodded.

Felix had a weak stomach. He supposed he really shouldn't look. He really, really, really shouldn't.

But he had to. He couldn't let Calhoun handle this alone, he needed to help her if he could, he needed to be brave. He grabbed the other flashlight from Calhoun's bag and took a breath. He clicked it on.

Calhoun looked at him in a way that said "please, don't" but Felix simply shook his head.

"I'll be fine," he said. "I want to help you handle this."

Wordlessly, Calhoun swung the cell door open. The coppery blood smell hit Felix's nostrils again, and it was enough to make him second-guess looking inside, but he stayed strong. He shined his light inside.

He gasped. Loudly and deeply. It made the smell of blood fill his lungs all the more quickly and he could feel himself getting lightheaded. He gripped the flashlight firmer, like that might help him stay in this reality a little better. It didn't help much.

The first thing that caught his eye was the oversized candy cane plunged into Turbo's chest. It wasn't directly through the center, it was more to the side, and there was no way it could've missed Turbo's right lung. That would account for the trouble breathing, no doubt. As Turbo struggled to send breaths through his body, the candy cane bobbed up and down, up and down, almost rhythmically.

And the next thing Felix saw was that the right side of Turbo's face was caked in blood and…something else. Something thick. Oh, Land, his eye. His right eye was gone. There was a gaping socket where it should've been, slick and empty and wrong. Felix thought he saw a thick vein trailing down, the stalk of his eye, maybe, but he didn't look too closely. He couldn't make himself look at it again.

He couldn't be sure, but Turbo's leg looked broken. It was bending in a way it shouldn't bend, Felix could tell that even through the white of Turbo's racing suit. Well, it should've been white. It was covered with dirt and blood now, completely ruined and disgusting. Even Turbo's helmet was cracked, right down the middle.

With his one remaining eye, Turbo looked first at Felix, then at Calhoun. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out but some kind of pained sound only slightly resembling a word. Something black and clotted dripped from the corner of Turbo's mouth as he attempted to speak.

Felix took two calm, collected steps backwards and out of the cell, bent his head down, and vomited.

"I thought you'd do that," Calhoun called from the cell. "You just stay out there. I'll take care of this."

He heard the clinking of metal on metal as he heaved, presumably Calhoun unlocking Turbo's wrists from their wall shackles. His stomach was empty, he knew that, but he kept on retching. He couldn't stop thinking about that candy cane undulating in Turbo's chest in time with his ragged breaths. How could someone even…think of that? To _do_ that?

Calhoun carried him out damsel-in-distress style, cradling the broken thing in her arms almost lovingly. Felix couldn't even look at him. Turbo looked even worse out in the light. He held his breath, to try and keep from gagging in front of Calhoun.

"Get the tarp out of my bag and spread it out," she said to Felix, softly. He could tell by her voice that this wasn't a sergeant commanding her men, this was a pal asking another pal a favor. He nodded, wiping at his mouth with his wrist. He did as he was told, spreading the tarp out along the cell floor, careful to avoid his puddle of sick.

She laid the racer down gently, like he was made of porcelain. He was so gray-white, he almost looked it.

"If he had a respawn code, for sure," she said, "it'd be easier to just…" She mimed shooting him in the head with her thumb and forefinger. "Put him out of his misery and let him regenerate. But I don't know if he does, or not…and I can't really ask him, huh?"

Turbo's eye wandered across her face, unseeing. It fluttered closed. Felix was fairly sure he'd passed out.

Felix could still taste bile at the back of his mouth. He swallowed, his hand pulling his golden hammer out of its holster loop.

He palmed the familiar grip, feeling the calming weight in his hand.

"I can fix it," he mumbled, nodding slightly to himself.

"If you can't stomach it," Calhoun said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sure my hospital ward can patch him up." But even she sounded uncertain. He'd probably die on his own before they stabilized him, and Felix knew that.

"I'll be fine," he said, trying to sound chipper for his gal, but failing. He gave her a false smile. She just patted him on the shoulder. Pat, pat, pat.

"I'll help any way I can," Calhoun said. Her voice was steady and reassuring. Felix couldn't possibly let her down. He had to do this.

"Okay," he said. "Let's start with…this."

His eyes fell upon the candy cane protruding from Turbo's chest, swaying back and forth with each weak breath the racer forced in and out of his ruined lungs. Calhoun understood his gist. She grabbed the curve of the candy and pulled.

Felix saw a flapping of skin and some kind of sucking sound. In and out. Turbo was forcing air through both his mouth and the new hole in his chest. Felix bit down on his tongue to keep from concentrating on the nausea welling within him. He tapped gently at the edge of the wound and watched as Turbo's gray skin stitched itself back together vein by vein, and even the fabric of his racing suit threaded itself back together.

Turbo's eye snapped open. He took in a sharp, loud breath. He sat up and coughed, took another deep breath, coughed. He spat chunks of things into his lap, expelling them from his lungs. His chest heaved with the now plentiful air he was receiving, and Felix thought he saw a smidgen of relief cross Turbo's face.

"Wow," Turbo gasped. "Shit. Wow."

He placed a hand on his chest, feeling the place where the candy cane had been. He looked at Felix, then down at the handyman's bloody hammer. With a shaking hand, he pointed at it, grinning.

"That thing is…wow. Ah, shit," he said, eye rolling back to his head. "I can _breathe_."

"It should fix you," Felix said. "Here, ah…your eye. Socket. Let's try…"

He tapped ever-so-slightly underneath the empty hole where Turbo's eye had been. Strings of muscle looped round and round, the yellow sclera and black pupil flowing like melted butter from the top of his socket back to their rightful place, the deep wound at his tear duct meshing back to its original gray.

_It worked, _Felix thought with a feeling not unlike joy. He did Turbo's leg next. With a series of hollow popping sounds, Turbo's leg realigned itself to its original structure.

"One more," Turbo said with a weak voice. One more what? Felix wondered. Turbo tried to lift his cracked helmet from his head, but Felix reassured him.

"I got it," Felix said. He tapped the helmet and the crack filled itself, good as new. But Turbo shook his head.

"No," he uttered. "Underneath…underneath my helmet."

He tried to lift the helmet from his head again, but this time it was Calhoun who intervened. She pulled his hands away from it, grabbing it herself. It was stuck. She yanked.

It was like ripping the candy cane from his chest, only on a smaller scale. Dozens of tiny holes dotted his scalp. Calhoun turned his helmet over, grimaced.

"What?" Felix asked.

Calhoun turned the helmet over for him to see. A smattering of some kind of sharp things were sloppily glued to the top of his helmet, so once the helmet was put back on his head, they would embed themselves indefinitely into his scalp.

"What are those?" Felix questioned.

He was actually asking Calhoun, but Turbo answered. "Some kinda candy," he said. "I could smell it. Some kinda vanilla-something."

Felix tapped at the inside of the helmet and cleared it of the unwanted sharp candies. He healed each individual hole on Turbo's head with a series of tap-tap-taps. The closer he got to being finished, the more relieved Turbo looked.

"Much bettah," Turbo mumbled as his eyes slid closed. But he suddenly cracked his eyes open a tad.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked. His voice may have been weak, but the question was very clear. Felix flicked his eyes over at Calhoun for support, but he could read nothing in her eyes. He sighed.

"It's what Good Guys do, I suppose," he said. "I knew you were in pain, and I couldn't just leave you down here…not like…you were."

Felix wasn't sure if the look Turbo was giving him was a smile or a grimace. Probably a combination of both.

"Well…" Turbo said. "You've bought me a couple hours of relief. At least until that party of theirs is over. Then they'll be back at it, I'm sure."

"Who is 'they'?" Calhoun asked him.

"All of them," Turbo said. "At first it was just Vanellope and Taffyta, but now they all join in."

"All of who?" Calhoun prodded. "You mean all of the racers here in _Sugar Rush_?"

Turbo nodded. His eyes looked faraway and haunted.

Calhoun took a breath. "Look, I'll just cut to the chase, here. I'm giving you two options. You can either stay here and they can keep…doing what they do to you, or I can smuggle you outta here and lock you up in _my_ game's prison."

"How much"—he cleared his throat—"physical pain is involved in _your _prison, sister?"

"None, unless you give us reason to," she said. Her words were harsh, but the way she said them was almost kind. It seemed to put Turbo at ease.

"I think I'll take a chance and go with you," he said with a faint smirk. "Can't be any worse than this place. Trust me."

"Hang on," Calhoun said. "There's one more condition."

"Yeah?"

"I want to know what's going wrong in this game," she said, "and if I need your help to do that—coding experience, whatever—you'll agree to help me or any of my soldiers."

Turbo didn't even have to think about it. "Fine."

Calhoun stuck out her hand. "Then we shake on it. You break your promise, I'll haul you right back down here, got it?"

He took her hand and shook it limply. "Got it."

"Good." Calhoun stood up and walked over to her rucksack. She unzipped an empty front compartment.

"Climb in."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Chapter 2 is finally through! I'm so glad I've got it finished. Hopefully it wasn't too bad, for those of you who don't like yucky stuff too much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: **None! Well, I guess one. An OC of mine is really prevalent in this chapter, so if you don't like non-canon characters, don't read it. ):

* * *

His new digs weren't too shabby, all things considered. For one, there was an actual bed—a bunk bed!—not some stupid cot-thing mounted to the wall. He was glad to see pillows, too. And since this place was a jail instead of a dungeon, the entire wall facing the outside was barred, and he was able to see out. Much better than the dark, gloomy place he used to be housed in.

Also, there were no chains to bind him with on the wall, he noted. Another big plus.

Turbo clambered onto the top bunk and stretched his limbs, looking like a beached starfish. He almost couldn't believe he wasn't being poked or prodded or burnt or sliced or stabbed or maimed at the moment. It felt surreal. But he wasn't complaining, that was for sure.

He thought for sure that the lady that helped smuggle him out of the hell-hole would be bombarding him with questions, or at least Fix-it Felix would wanna chew the fat for a while about what just transpired. But they dumped him out and left, rather hurriedly, he might add. He actually had something useful to tell them, but if they were wanting to run off like that, that was fine with him. Their loss.

He sighed in relief, half-grinning as he allowed himself to relax for the first time in weeks. Needless to say that in _Sugar Rush_, he was either writhing in pain and fading in and out of consciousness or keyed up about when the next wave of torture was coming his way. It was kinda nice, being able to lounge around for a little bit.

Of course, he'd have to think of a way to escape—but for now, he might just take a snooze.

Turbo faintly heard footsteps, and his heart began to thunder in his chest out of habit. But he reminded himself that he wasn't in _Sugar Rush _anymore, and whoever was coming was probably just passing through.

But the footsteps came to a stop just outside his cell. He didn't bother to turn his head and see who it was. Either they were just there to gawk at the new prisoner, or they'd pipe up and tell him what they wanted.

"Sarge said we had somebody new in here," came a voice—a throaty, almost androgynous voice that either belonged to a little boy or a woman.

Turbo turned his head. The figure standing outside his cell was a little plain-looking, sure, but female. Her body armor had a rounded chestplate for her boobs, instead of the square ones the guys around here wore. Counting the lady who carted him in, he'd now seen a total of three women here.

"Aint I the _only _one here?" Turbo said.

"Nah, we have two more, at the very end there," the woman said, pointing down the hall. "We call that cell 'the drunk tank.' People are in and out of that one." She shrugged. "We've never had an actual inmate, I don't think."

Turbo turned the rest of his body to face the woman. "Are you the warden?"

She laughed. "No, I just came to be nosy. Everybody was talking about how we had somebody from a different game down here, and I just wanted to, uh…" She scratched at her jawline, where an angry red rash festered. "See what you were all about, I guess."

Turbo opened his palm to the woman, as if to say, _ta-da_. He wasn't much to look at, frankly. He wasn't gonna lie to himself.

"So, what isthis game, anyway?" he asked her. "Shoot-em-up?"

"I guess," she said. "I mean, we call it a first-person shooter, but yeah."

"Do you shoot people?"

She laughed again. "No, no. I mean, I _can_, if I need to, but I hardly ever use this." She patted the laser pistol holstered at her hip. "I'm the mechanic. I fix a little bit of everything, I guess, but I mainly do vehicles."

Turbo straightened himself into a sitting position. The woman suddenly became much more interesting. Mainly because he could talk more about himself now.

"I'm from a racing game, y'know," he said proudly. "Originally, _and _I took one over for fifteen years."

"What kind of racing game?" the woman asked, intrigued. But suddenly, her face fell. "Wait, back up. You're not talking about _Sugar Rush_, are you?"

"I am," Turbo said with a smirk.

"So you're the game-jumping guy?" she said incredulously, brows furrowed.

"Yup," Turbo grinned. He was pleased as punch at his infamy.

The woman scratched at her rash. "Kay, so…you like, killed two games full of people."

Turbo nodded. He wasn't exactly proud of _that _part of the whole deal, but he'd done it nonetheless.

"Well, it's not like I slit their throats or anything," he said, trying his best to sound nonchalant. "But you could put it that way, yeah."

"Dead is dead," she shrugged. "Anyway, what's done is done, I guess. You're gonna be in there for a long, long time, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Turbo said. "Don't remind me." This woman didn't seem too shocked at his actions, Turbo thought. She's probably seen her fair share of carnage in this game.

He looked up at the woman. "What's ya name, anyway?"

"Adams."

"No, no." He rolled his eyes. "Your first name."

Again, her hand found its way to her rash. "Nah, I just go by my last name. Just call me Adams."

"Embarrassing first name, I guess?"

"Kinda," she muttered. _Scratch, scratch_.

"Ya really shouldn't scratch that, y'know."

She dropped her hand to her side. "Yeah, I know."

That seemed to embarrass her. Her cheeks tinged a blotchy pink.

"So what's your name?" she mumbled to him.

"You know all that stuff about me, but ya don't know my name?" Turbo said. He was a little disappointed in that, actually.

"I guess I don't," Adams admitted.

"Well, I'm Turbo," he said with zeal. "The greatest racer evah."

Adams grinned at that, like she was humoring a child.

Turbo crossed his arms. "What's that face supposedta mean, huh?"

Her cheeks turned a darker pink. "Nothing, I was just…" She moved her hand up to scratch her face again, but she caught herself. She slapped her hand back down to her side.

"Anyway," Adams said, "welcome to Holding Cell A-3, I guess. They put you in the third cell so you're right in front of the security guard's desk, I think." She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was a security setup there, complete with monitors and buttons and a sleek office desk and a swivel chair and Turbo didn't know whatall else. He wouldn't be getting into any mischief unnoticed, that much was clear.

"Well, lemme tell ya," Turbo said, "this place is way better than the _Sugar Rush _dungeon by a long shot."

"Yeah, Sarge won't get into details, but apparently there's something weird going on in that game," Adams said.

"'Weird' doesn't really touch it, but you could say that," he said. "Glad to be outta there, let's just put it that way. I think I owe your boss a favor, but I'm not really the 'owe a favor' type." He shrugged.

"Didn't figure you were," Adams said. "Anyway, uh…guess I'll be seeing you?" Her intonation phrased the sentence like a question, but she didn't wait for an answer. She did an awkward little wave and departed.

"She's kinda weird," Turbo said under his breath, when she was out of earshot. But a part of him had to admit that he was glad to have a conversation with somebody.

He thought he might conjure up a way to escape now, but really, he'd just have to play it out for a few days and see how things went. Who knew, maybe somebody came in to swap out bed linens or something and he could escape then. If he was being honest with himself, though, he couldn't fathom any way to escape all this metal he was surrounded by. He'd just have to wait.

Maybe now would be a good time, then, to take a little nap.

**{*}**

General Hologram was, as his name suggested, a hologram. Oddly enough, he didn't have a physical embodiment in _Hero's Duty, _but that hardly mattered. He could manifest himself within any mechanical device that had a screen, so appearing in most places was no problem.

In fact, he was quite fond of using the First-Person Player Module to get around the game, and he was free to do just that once the arcade was closed. He ran his code through the unit's motherboard and drove it to Calhoun's barracks.

He commanded the robotic hand to knock at the door. Expecting him, Calhoun opened the door in a matter of seconds.

She saluted him. "Greetings, General Hologram. I have lots of news to report."

"Oh, at ease, Tamora," he told her. "We're alone here, we can skip the formalities."

Calhoun dropped her hand back down to her side and allowed her shoulders to relax into a more comfortable position. She sidestepped the doorway, letting General Hologram's unit roll inside.

"I understand we've got ourselves a new prisoner," he said. He turned his monitor to look at Calhoun. "Well, I can't very well sit down, but you certainly can. Take a seat while we talk."

Calhoun sat in an armchair, while General Hologram rolled himself in front of her.

"Indeed we do have a new prisoner," she said. "I apologize, sir, but I had to get him out of the situation he was in. I couldn't leave him there."

"I understand," General Hologram said, his head on the screen nodding. "And I don't blame you. I don't see any way he could cause any real trouble here, so long as we keep a close eye on him. Barnes won't be happy that he has to constantly watch over our new prisoner, but he'll get over it." He chuckled.

"But the reason I really wanted to talk to you," Calhoun said, "is because I'm awfully suspicious of _Sugar Rush_. For those children to…to do the things they did…don't you think that's a little odd, sir?"

"Well," Hologram said, "it could be that they wanted revenge for all Turbo put them through, all he's done to the arcade. Do you think that's plausible?"

Calhoun crooked a finger on her chin in thought. "I suppose," she said. "But they're just so…well, they're just kids. I just can't see them doing what they've done."

"And what exactly _have _they done?" Hologram asked.

Calhoun told him of the horrors they had inflicted on Turbo, in very gruesome detail. General Hologram nodded as she explained the extent of the torture. It was terrible, yes, but not unheard of in his line of work.

"I see," Hologram said. "It does sound like there's some foul play at work there. Since Turbo rewrote so much of the game's code, and that girl—Vanellope, I believe you said her name was—reverted said code, I'm sure something could've been corrupted. Easily."

Calhoun nodded. "I've also considered that there might be a virus."

"Who knows, Turbo might've programmed a dormant virus into the game's code," Hologram said. "Though, if that's a case, his planning must've gone awry. I doubt he'd program those children to torture him intentionally."

"Right," Calhoun said. "Either way, there's something amiss over there, and I'm in favor of finding out what."

"I think we ought to investigate," General Hologram agreed, nodding. "We wouldn't want that game to be unplugged. Or worse, we don't need the virus they might be infected with spreading over here."

"They're good kids," Calhoun said candidly. "I really don't want anything to happen to them."

"I know," Hologram said. "If we can help, we should try to do so. Can you make a plan of action for me, Sarge?"

Calhoun smiled at the nickname. "I'll have it ready by tomorrow, General."

"No real rush," Hologram said. "I _would _suggest talking to your prisoner first. See what he knows. It might help you."

Calhoun didn't look too enthused about having to talk to Turbo, but she nodded. "I'll interrogate him."

General Hologram said his goodbyes, and Calhoun sent him off with a salute. As he rolled down the barracks corridor, he thought he might like to talk to this Turbo character himself, see what he was all about. But that could wait. He didn't want to overwhelm the prisoner, and Calhoun was sure to do a mental number on him with her sharp interrogation skills. He wanted to keep this character as compliant as he possibly could, though he doubted he'd have much luck with that.

But those kids in _Sugar Rush _were puzzling him. At first he figured Turbo was at fault for this, but now he wasn't so sure. It could very well be a virus. But if it was a virus, where did it come from? Corrupted code seemed the logical answer. But if that was the case, he wasn't sure how they were going to fix it.

They might have to have a helping hand from their prisoner to do that.

Well, he thought, maybe Tamora could get him some more information about the matter. He rolled the First-Person Player Module back to the game's entrance where it belonged, sending his code to the main motherboard at the top of the 99-story Cybug Tower. He allowed himself to switch to sleep mode, but the thoughts of the ravenous children across the hall still plagued his thoughts.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I nearly wrote General Hologram as he was originally intended to be, as General Lockload-but, ehh. I just decided to keep him how he is now. Both are good characters. And at first I had it written that Turbo was really frightened and freaked out at his new surroundings, as an after-effect of being tortured in _Sugar Rush_, but I decided not to write him that way. After he was free of immediate danger, I figure he'd recover quickly-outwardly, at least. He's not really the type of guy to display weakness, if you're asking me. Hmm, I dunno.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings:** Mild gore. Not too graphic, though.

* * *

Shapeless figures crowded around him, twisting and gnashing in the darkness. Phantom hands grabbed at him, pinned him down. He couldn't budge. Suddenly he felt a burning pain in his gut, then another, and another. Laughter echoed from all sides. That was one thing—the pain—but then there was their voices. As long as he may live, he knew he'd never forget it. The haunting sounds would always be ingrained into his memory.

"_Zero-one-zero-one-zero-one-zero-zero—" _

He vaguely recognized the raspy voice as Candlehead's. She recited the series of zeroes and ones, followed by an inorganic, mechanical screeching noise.

"_Zero-one-zero-one-zero-one-zero-one—"_

She made the screeching noise once more. He understood the numbers, and what they meant, if he could concentrate hard enough to listen properly. But there was the small matter of three objects being twisted around in his gut.

He could feel something pelting him now, almost like raindrops. It was kind of refreshing, compared to the pain he was enduring.

Until one of the somethings smacked him hard in the nose.

Turbo's eyes popped open. He shot up into a sitting position, gasping for air like he'd been submerged underwater and had just breached the surface. Pieces of candy, which had apparently been lying on his chest, skittered into his lap. He screamed, flailing to remove himself of the sweets, sending them clattering to the metal floor below.

"Relax, guy!"

He was in his prison cell, the one in the shooting game. Right, right. He knew that. He was having a dream—well, nightmare.

Turbo looked over to the source of the voice. A man that appeared to be in the early stages of senior citizenship, with a pot belly bigger than his own and a bushy salt-and-pepper moustache, stared back at him. In the man's hand was a clear plastic bag full of…candy.

"Didn't know these were gonna scare you that much," the man said, indicating his bag of candy. His voice was mellow, calming in a way. "But I tried yelling, and you wouldn't wake up. So I had to throw these at you through the bars."

This man, too, was dressed in some kind of armor, but it looked less clunky than what was normal around this game. It looked…stretchy. His paunch was well-accommodated for in the suit, Turbo would just put it that way.

"Are you the warden?" Turbo asked, voice still bleary with sleep.

"Ah-huh," the man replied, bobbing his head down in a single nod. "Officer Barnes."

Turbo lifted a hand in a half-wave. A peppermint fell out of his grip. He frowned at it, tossing it to the floor with the rest. "Turbo."

"Yeah, I know," Barnes replied. "Hey, I was waking you up cause Calhoun's on her way to see you."

Turbo furrowed his brow. "Who?"

"Ya know, uh…tall lady, short blonde hair…"

"Oh, yeah," Turbo said. "The one that brought me here."

"Yeah, yeah, her," Barnes said. "Dunno what she wants, but I just got off the phone with her, and she's on her way."

Turbo removed his helmet and sat it on the mattress beside him, running a hand through his messy mohawk. The effects of the nightmare were still lingering. And to wake up from a nightmare about _Sugar Rush _by being pelted by candy…not so great.

Barnes sat down behind his desk, swiveling his chair to face nine bulky CCTV monitors mounted to the wall. Nothing much was going on, by the looks of thing. It must be after-hours at the arcade. Characters were milling around, doing this and that, but there was definitely no shooting or exploding or whatever they did in this game.

The warden pointed to a rigidly moving figure walking across the screen in the bottom-right corner. Turbo could barely make out a crop of blonde hair atop the person's head.

"Here she comes."

Not five seconds after Barnes said the words did Turbo hear the sound of an automatic door sliding open. Footsteps were headed his way. The nervousness, that all-too-familiar feeling of doom, bloomed within him again, but he calmed himself.

_We're not in Wonderland anymore, Alice_, he thought. Which, he didn't really know if that was the phrase he was looki—

The blonde lady said a few curt words of greeting to Barnes before turning to face Turbo. Unlike what Turbo was expecting, she wasn't looking angry. Then again, she was a sergeant, so she was probably a pro at veiling her true emotions.

"Hello," she said coolly.

"Uh…hi."

"So you're the famous Turbo, huh?" she said. "I had to dash off and talk to the general when I first brought you in, so we never did get a chance to talk about things."

Turbo was having a few mixed emotions at the moment, and he wasn't feeling too talkative. On the one hand, this lady—and Fix-it Felix, too, he guessed—_did _save him from an indefinite life of torture. Then again, he didn't know her. Not even her name.

"Sergeant Calhoun," she said, almost like she was reading his mind. "Calhoun's fine. And I already know who you are."

He stared down at his lap. "Yeah."

"Actually, I don't know much about you, other than the bits and pieces Felix has told me," she said.

"Ma'am, would you like me to getcha something to sit in?" Barnes offered. "There's a chair in the break lounge, I know."

"No need," Calhoun said. "We're heading out to the interrogation room. Just as soon as you unlock this door and get him cuffed."

Officer Barnes looked a tad shocked, and Turbo felt much the same. "Interrogation room" sounded a little foreboding. But, hey. It was nothing he couldn't handle. He just had to remind himself of that.

"Right," Barnes said, retrieving a ring of keys and a set of handcuffs from clips on his belt.

"Now," he said, addressing Turbo as he stuck a key in the lock. He turned it, but nothing happened. "Agh, these dang keys all look the same, might take me a second—anyway, now, I don't think I have to tell you not to be attacking me, or anything, when I open this door. I'd appreciate it if you'd just cooperate with me, here."

Turbo hopped down from the top bunk, stumbling a little on the landing. His foot was asleep, he discovered. "Alright."

Finally, Barnes got the door open, and he stepped into the cell. "Wrists out, please."

Turbo held his wrists up to the officer, and the cool of the metal tightened around his skin. It wasn't pleasant, having your arms rendered pretty much useless, but it could be worse. And he could say that from experience.

"Let's go," Calhoun said. "Walk in front of me."

"But I don't know where we're going," Turbo said.

Was that the tiniest flicker of a grin Turbo saw on Calhoun's face? "Just keep walking and I'll tell you where to turn. Go."

So they left the holding cells, and it was awkward for Turbo to just walk and not know where he was headed, but he didn't much have a choice in the matter. When Calhoun told him to turn left, he turned left, and when she told him to turn right, he turned right. They passed a few people on the way, and Turbo felt their eyes on him. That was okay. He'd just look at them, too. Some people's shocked expressions were a little too much for him, and he was smirking despite himself. He knew this wasn't exactly what someone would normally think of as a happy time, but he'd take what he could get.

"When we get to that door on the right, stop," Calhoun instructed him. So he did. She punched a few numbers on a keypad and the door unlocked. She pushed the door open.

"After you."

Turbo shuffled into the darkness, and again, his heart began to pound. He couldn't see anything. But not long after he'd entered the room, Calhoun flicked a light on.

The room was pretty bare. In the center of the room was a metal table with two uncomfortable-looking chairs pushed up to it. Also, he noticed a security camera mounted in the corner. He wondered if Barnes was eavesdropping on them right now.

Calhoun shut and locked the door behind her. "Have a seat," she said, and Turbo wasn't able to read her tone. He just did as he was told. It was hard to shimmy into the chair, though, because he was so short, and the chair was made for taller folk, and he didn't have his hands to help him. He managed, though.

Calhoun sat down opposite him, lacing her fingers together atop the table. She stared at them for a moment, then moved her eyes to meet his. At first her unwavering eye contact made Turbo want to squirm, but then he realized that was probably her intention. He steeled himself under her gaze.

"We won't get into much, for tonight," she said. "We won't talk about your game-jumping, or any of that. What I really want to know about is _Sugar Rush._ You have any idea what's going on over there?"

At first Turbo thought about lying to her, out of mere habit more than anything, but he supposed he owed her the truth for smuggling him out of there. He wasn't the owing type, but still.

He shook his head. "I've got no clue, I honestly don't."

Calhoun sighed. "I figured you didn't, given…well, given what they were doing to you there. I was hoping you could help shed some light on the situation. What they're doing isn't normal, but I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

Turbo shook his head again. No, he didn't need her to tell him that. What were once sweet little children were now…monsters. And he honestly _didn't _know why. He had a few ideas, but they were shots in the dark more than anything.

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?" Calhoun said. "Aside from…what they did to you. Was there anything strange that you noticed?"

At first, Turbo opened his mouth to tell her no, but then he remembered that that wasn't exactly true. There was something odd about them. Other than what was obvious, of course.

"Yeah, there was something, actually," he said. "I mean, I don't think it's gonna help much. But I did notice that they talk in binary when they get…violent."

"You say that like I should know what that is."

Turbo had just assumed Calhoun knew all about game code, but the more he thought about it, he realized that it didn't make much sense for her to. Anybody that wasn't deliberately meddling in the game's lifeblood wouldn't know a whole lot about binary.

"Binary's just a bunch of zeroes and ones," Turbo said. "Depending on what order they're in, they stand for a letter. And obviously you can spell things with letters."

"And what? When they talk, they're trying to spell something out?" Calhoun mused.

"They spell out weird stuff," he said. "My name, 'kill,' 'pain,' 'blood,' blah blah. Cliché things, really, if ya think about it."

"Definitely abnormal," Calhoun said with a nod, "but you didn't notice anything that might give you a clue as to what's going on, I don't suppose."

"Not really."

"I see."

Her posture seemed to relax a little. She unlaced her fingers and dropped her hands into her lap.

"I wanna ask you something," she said. "Did you do this?"

Turbo blanched. For her to think that he'd…was she stupid, or something? He forgot about being nervous and switched to defense mode.

"What, you think I'd pull my _own _eyeball out of my socket? Chop my _own _arms and legs off? Burn my_self—_"

He squeezed his eyes shut. Memories were flooding back to him. But he had learned a technique to deal with it—pretend the thought was a bubble, reach your hand out in your mind's eye, and _pop_. Gone. He took a breath, reopened his eyes.

"No. I didn't do this," he deadpanned.

"That's actually not what I meant," Calhoun said. "Do you think you could've done this inadvertently? Some kind of altered code of yours gone awry?"

"I doubt it," Turbo said. "Cause think about it. When…when Vanellope reset all my hard work, it wiped everything of mine out. So that can't be what's wrong."

"That's what I thought, at first. But your respawn code was still intact even after the fact, right?"

"Oh, definitely," Turbo said darkly. He'd done more respawning in the past couple months than he'd done in his whole lifetime. His respawn code was definitely in full working order.

"And _you_ are obviously still around," Calhoun said. "So there are at least two remnants of your coding still around somehow."

"That's because I—oh."

"What?"

"Well, I programmed myself and my respawn code into the game's core," Turbo explained. "Y'know, even if you reset a game, there'll always be a set of code that doesn't go anywhere—structure meshes and avatars and such. That's where I put my personal coding, just in case…something ever happened."

"And you're sure that's all you programmed into the core? No virus, or anything?"

"I'm good with code, but I'm not that good. A virus I might be able to do, but a dormant virus…no way."

"I'm not so sure I believe you."

"Well, that's fine, but it's the truth," Turbo spat.

"Okay," Calhoun said, eyes narrowed, "if you're so smart, what do _you _think is going on in _Sugar Rush_?"

"I've racked my brain trying to figure that out," he said. "I really. Don't. Know."

"Could it _be_ a virus?"

"If it is, I didn't put it there," he said. "And I don't know where it'd come from. They don't just pop outta nowhere, they have to come from some kinda malicious source. And I don't think we've had any new games plugged in here…lately…"

Both of their eyes widened.

"Surely you don't think it's coming from _Hero's Duty_," she muttered.

Finally, someone bothered to tell him the name of this stupid game. "You guys've been plugged in, what, a month and a half now? You'd think another game would be affected by now, if it was coming from this game."

Still yet, Calhoun's face looked worried. "I hope so. I'll have my tech team look into it, see if they can track anything down here. I'm not ruling out the probability of a virus just yet, no matter where it's coming from."

Turbo thought about it for a moment. If he was gonna sit here in this claustrophobic room, he may as well try to be helpful.

"I mean, other than a virus," he said, "what could it be, you think?"

"General Hologram seemed to think it was corrupted code, when I talked to him," Calhoun said.

"I guess it's possible," Turbo said. "All that code moving around, resetting itself…something might've ended up in the wrong spot. So there's that."

Calhoun hummed in thought, putting her elbow on the table and resting her cheek in her palm. "Just between you and me, I wish I was a little more tech-savvy. It's hard to interrogate somebody when you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to coding."

Loathe though he was to admit it, Turbo felt the faintest flicker of sympathy. It didn't last long, but it was definitely there. Calhoun _did_ rescue him. Stuffed him in a backpack and carted him right out of the dungeon, and why did she wanna do that? Just because she was a Good Guy. She wasn't so bad, he guessed.

"Seriously, though," he said, "it aint me. I have no clue what's going on in there. So you can at least rule me out."

"I'm not ruling anything out just yet," she said. "I don't want anything to happen to those kids over in _Sugar Rush_, but if what they did to you is any indication of what they're capable of…whatever's affecting them might spread to the rest of the arcade, and that's a problem."

Turbo nodded. He did a horrendous job in _Turbo Time_, his original cabinet, but he was a very responsible ruler in _Sugar Rush_. He knew the pangs of responsibility, knew full-well what Calhoun was going through.

"I mean…I do know a lot about code, y'know, and I might be able to…if there's anything…"

Calhoun smirked. "Are you offering to help me?"

Turbo gave her a sour look. "You know what I mean."

She just shook her head. Turbo scowled at her, but she didn't notice his pouty face. Her loss.

"Alright," she said, pushing her chair away from the table, standing up. "I think that's about enough for today. Two steps forward, one step back."

Turbo hopped down from his own chair. "I guess."

As they walked back to the holding cells, Turbo was a little relieved at getting to stretch his legs out. He hadn't been able to for a while now. Despite himself, he was beginning to appreciate the smaller things in life as of late. Naturally it was irksome to be cuffed and bossed around by a lady three times his height, but hey. At least all his extremities were present and accounted for.

"Back already?" Barnes said, swiveling around to face the two of them. "Seemed like you weren't gone even an hour."

"About half that," Calhoun said. "We didn't find out much. I'm pretty much through with him for now. I'll stand here while you get his cuffs off."

What did they think he was gonna do, try and run away, or something? The idea was tempting, but he wasn't a moron. He'd have a laser round smoldering between his eyes before he made it two steps. He'd be a good boy for now. He stuck his wrists out, and he was uncuffed and ushered back into his cell without incident.

Calhoun said something about heading over to the tech department, saying her goodbyes to Officer Barnes as she departed. As soon as the door shut behind her, Barnes grabbed the bag of candy off his desk and walked over to Turbo's cell.

"Want some?" he said.

"I'm not much in a candy mood," Turbo said, but that was a lie. He was always in the mood for candy. Even though characters didn't need to eat, technically, it still made your tummy feel better if it wasn't completely empty.

"Wait," Turbo said. "Got any chocolate in there? Or gummies?"

"Both," Barnes smiled. "Here, hold out your hand."

Turbo raised his cupped hand up to Barnes through the cell bars, and the warden filled his hand with as much candy as Turbo could hold. Turbo popped a red gummy bear into his mouth immediately. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the taste of candy, twisted though that may be.

"You aint half bad, Pops," Turbo said.

Barnes chuckled. "How'd you know that was my nickname? All the guys call me that, I must just look like a Pops."

"You do," Turbo nodded.

"Anyway, don't tell anybody I gave you that," Barnes said. "I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to do that. You're my first real inmate that isn't some drunken slob, but still, I'm sure I don't really need to be giving you anything like that."

"I'm good at keepin secrets," Turbo said.

Though escape was looking less and less possible, what with all the security around _Hero's Duty_, Turbo had to step back and be just the littlest bit thankful for his new home. He'd never admit it aloud, but this place was way better. He still wanted to bust out of there, but it wasn't as bad as it could've been.

And he knew that from experience.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So I made Turbo actually have feelings in this chapter? I don't know if I did a big whoopsie or not. People are in such disagreement on Turbo's personality. And one week I'll think of him this way, then I'll totally change my mind about what I think of him, and it's just a mess. We just need some more canon stuff, don't we?


	5. Chapter 5

**Warnings: **Moderate gore.

* * *

After everything that had happened here lately, Felix was pretty much partied out, but he couldn't say no when one of the Nicelanders invited him to a "get-together," as they were wont to call it. Not to mention that Mary, the hostess of the shindig, had particularly brittle feelings, and Felix didn't want to risk upsetting her. So when she invited him in person, he just smiled and nodded, feigning excitement, all the while screaming in agony in his mind. A nice, relaxing night to himself would be nice…but, of course, he didn't say that to Mary. What he said instead was, "I'll be there, neighbor!"

Sometimes—no, all the time, he chided himself—he was nice to a fault. Well. Nothing to be done about it now.

Mary hadn't said specifically, but Felix had been to one of her "get-togethers" before, so he knew to bring a little something. It was more of a potluck than anything. He wasn't too great of a cook, and everyone in the apartment complex knew this glaring fact, so the quiet assumption fell upon him to bring a beverage. Carefully, he carried a sloshing bowl of fruit punch down the hall to Mary's apartment, a sheet of plastic wrap stretched haphazardly over the top.

He had to ring the doorbell with his elbow.

"Hello, dear!" Mary beamed. "Here, let me take that from you." She took the punch bowl from him and brought it over to a long metal table she'd thrown up just outside her kitchen. "Wouldn't you know you're not the last one to show up this time?"

Felix gave a courteous laugh. "Is that a fact? Who're we missing?" He scanned the crowd milling about in Mary's spacious living room. "Just Gene, huh? Well, I'm sure he'll be here in a jiffy. I was nearly the last one here." More polite laughing.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he just wants to be 'fashionably late,' as they say," Mary said with a flap of her hand. "Anyway, dear, you just get yourself fixed up over there." She gestured toward the table crammed with goodies.

And Felix was a little on the hungry side, so he graciously accepted the offer to bow out of the conversation. "Hungry" wasn't actually the best word, since characters didn't _need _food, but he hadn't eaten anything for the entire day and food would be a great pick-me-up and stress reliever. Did that count as being hungry? He thought it was close enough. Either way, he grabbed a disposable plate and fork and napkin first off, and loaded up on petit fours and finger sandwiches.

He had just found a seat on Mary's sofa and popped a tiny cake into his mouth when Gene came through the door. If one weren't paying close attention, one probably wouldn't notice anything amiss, but Felix thought Gene looked frazzled. Unnerved, maybe. Plate in hand, he went over to chat with his neighbor.

"Y'know, it's usually me that's the late one," Felix remarked.

"Let's just keep this between you and me," Gene muttered, "but I'm feeling a little…under the weather." He rubbed at his temples, like he had a headache.

"Well, it sure was nice of you to come, even though you're not feeling too chipper," Felix said with a warm smile. "It means a lot to Mary."

"I know," Gene nodded. "In fact, I need to tell her I've made it in. 'Scuse me."

Felix watched him go, all the while thinking that Gene was looking a little flushed. Maybe he ought to go home and lay down. Then again, maybe he'd be fine after he had a bite to eat.

But all thoughts of Gene's ailment were dashed from his mind when he heard a piercing scream coming from the kitchen.

Felix abandoned his plate and bolted into the kitchen, the other party guests cramming in behind him. His mouth fell open at the scene unfolding before him.

Gene was grinning impossibly wide, a butcher knife from Mary's knife block gripped in his hand. The tip of the knife was inches away from Mary's button nose, Mary herself a bawling and crumpled heap on the tile floor.

And Gene was…giggling.

Felix hadn't realized it until that moment, but he had both his arms outstretched to prevent any of the other Nicelanders from venturing closer. No one seemed too keen on trying. He lowered his arms to his side.

"Gene?"

At the mention of his name, the mustachioed Nicelander turned his head toward Felix. He opened his mouth, and the sounds that spilled out of it made the hairs on Felix's arms stick up on end.

_"Zero-one-zero-zero-zero-one-one-zero—"_

Gene chanted a series of zeroes and ones, each set punctuated by a half-mechanical, half-human screeching sound. As he seemed distracted with his recitation of the numbers, Mary tried to scoot away from the point of the knife, but Gene matched her every movement. She may have been further away from her kitchen counter now, but she was in every bit as much danger as she was a moment before. She whimpered, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.

After what seemed like forever (but was in actuality only about two minutes) Gene closed his mouth.

Felix had to admit he was more or less terrified and had no idea what to do in this kind of situation, but he also knew that he was the Good Guy, and all of the Nicelanders were looking to him to solve this problem.

He had to be brave.

"Gene, I don't know what in Sam Hill is the matter with you," Felix said carefully, evenly, all the while inching toward him, "but you need to calm down." He extended a hand, intent on grabbing the knife.

And then things happened very quickly.

Gene raised the knife high above his head, as high as his little arm could get it, and Felix knew what was going to happen then. He rushed forward, and he heard himself yelling, but he was too late.

Gene plunged the knife hard into Mary's chest, way harder than a man of his size should have been capable of. Felix heard her breastbone snap like a glowstick. The other Nicelanders screamed, but obviously not as loudly as Mary.

It didn't take a medical expert to know that Mary would soon die of her wound, but Gene wasn't waiting around for her bodily processes to finish the job. He made a move for her throat just as Felix grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him. But for Gene, that was a mere mild hiccup.

With his arm still gripped in Felix's hands, he sliced Mary's throat open. A thin line of blood welled at the wound, then spilled down her front. She gave out a squeak, grabbing uselessly at the cut before collapsing, dead, in a pool of her own pixelated blood.

One second her lifeless form was there, on the floor, blank eyes staring uselessly at the crowd of screaming and bawling Nicelanders, and the next second, she respawned. She blinked once, twice, a tinny _pi-pi-ping _sound coming from all corners of the room, signaling a new life. Her mint green kitten heels clashed terribly with the pool of square-ish blood she was now standing in.

Mary didn't miss a beat. She took off running, as any sane character would do, and the other Nicelanders seemed to think this was a novel idea as well. They all clamored for the kitchen doorway, squeezing out two bodies at a time. By the sound of things, they were spilling out into the apartment complex hallway, which was a good thing, Felix thought. He wanted them as far away from this crazy situation as possible.

Felix took this moment of chaos to wrap both arms firmly around Gene's body, squeezing tight, rendering the hand still curled around the knife useless. Gene's strength was magnified, but Felix still managed to hold him back. Barely.

"Drop the knife, Gene," he said with as much authority as he could muster.

But all Gene had to say about that was more zeroes and ones and a grating screech. Felix would have to switch tactics, then. He slammed Gene to the floor, pinning his arms down, grinding a knee into his chest.

"Please," Felix begged, though he knew it would do no good. Gene jerked underneath him, knocking Felix's leg off his chest, kicking the handyman hard in the stomach with both feet. Felix couldn't help but lose his grip on Gene's arms as his eyes watered in pain, and Gene took full advantage of that. He slithered away from the handyman and slashed with his knife, narrowly missing Felix's jugular and instead nicking him on the cheek. It stung a little, but it was nothing compared to what Mary had undoubtedly just been through.

Instead of going after Felix again, he seemed to forget all about him. Gene ran for the door as fast as his legs could carry him, which luckily wasn't very fast at all. Felix took off after him, catching him by the middle again, Gene's legs flailing in the air.

Felix was at a loss. If he couldn't get the knife away from him, maybe he could subdue him long enough to talk sense into him. He slammed Gene into the kitchen wall, holding him there with his own body.

"I have no—idea what's gotten—into you," Felix growled, struggling to hold the Nicelander in place, "But for land's sake—!"

Suddenly, it sounded like the front entryway exploded. The unmistakable smell of busted-up drywall and rubbled brick stung his nose.

"Felix, where are ya, buddy?!"

He sighed with relief. Ralph. One of the Nicelanders must've gone to fetch him. Ralph couldn't squeeze into any of the apartments besides Felix's penthouse, hence why he wasn't at the party to begin with. He'd destroyed the front entrance to get in and would have to smash his way into the kitchen, but that would be all right. Felix would fix it.

"In here!" Felix called, grinding his knee into the squirming murderer's back. He heard heavy footsteps, then the familiar _pa-boom_ of Ralph's meaty fists meeting the wall, sending a powdering of sheetrock all over Felix and Gene. Ralph wasted no time in grabbing Gene's shirt with a thumb and forefinger, lifting him up in the air like a mama cat with her kitten. Only this gesture was none too friendly. Or gentle.

Gene flailed his limbs, the knife slicing through air almost comically as he tried to reach Ralph to stab at him. But he was nowhere close.

"Drop the knife," Ralph said firmly.

Felix was not surprised when Gene, once again, ignored this request. He continued to stab at phantom Nicelanders as he swayed in midair.

"Feisty one, ah?" Ralph said, plucking the knife away from Gene and tossing it across the kitchen. With the knife gone, he gripped Gene in his fist, just loosely enough for the Nicelander to breathe.

"Oh, Ralph," Felix exhaled. Briefly, he removed his blue cap and wiped at his sweaty brow with the back of his work glove. "You came just in time. I didn't know how much longer I could fight him off."

"I got 'im," Ralph said, giving his fist a vengeful squeeze. Gene began to murmur more zeroes and ones.

"Why's he doing that…? What's he saying? Ones and zeroes, as in numbers?" Ralph grimaced. "Is that what you're hearing too, Felix?"

"Sounds like it," Felix said. "I don't know…I have no idea what's gotten _into _him."

"Well, he's always been kind of a jerkbag," Ralph said, "but all insults aside, I think something's wrong, here. What he's doing definitely aint normal."

Felix looked around him, at the ruined kitchen entrance, at the blood, at the knife tossed to the corner of the room. His first instinct was to fetch Calhoun. She always knew what to do in these kinds of situations. Then again, what could she do, outside of locking Gene up in one of her holding cells? There wasn't much she _could _do, except offer advice, maybe, on what had just transpired.

"You think Calhoun might know what's wrong with him?" Felix asked Ralph.

"Dunno," Ralph said. "She might, or, I mean, doesn't she have a buncha people that work in a lab over there? They might be able to take a blood sample or something."

Gene was still struggling to free himself from Ralph's grasp, but it came as no surprise to Felix that Gene was getting nowhere fast. Still, though…even a criminally insane person would've tired themselves out by now.

"And you still call her by her last name?" Ralph said with a grin.

"Who? Oh." Felix felt the honey glows creep to his cheeks. "It's what she likes to be called, and it just sounds right." He shrugged. "But I think we've got bigger things to worry about."

"Right," Ralph nodded. "Why don't we take this creep over to _Hero's Duty _right now, see what she thinks? We can clean _this _up later."

Felix nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Ralph exited through the two Ralph-shaped holes he'd made in the wall, Felix sidestepping all the debris in his path. The Nicelanders were huddled outside, Mary visibly shaking in the center of the crowd.

"Don't worry," Gene said to them, showing off the prize in his fist. "I got 'im right here."

"And we're taking him to the _Hero's Duty _cabinet to hopefully find out what's wrong with him," Felix added in a soothing tone. "We'll be back with news as soon as we can. Don?"

The Nicelander named Don perked his head up. "Yes?"

"Would you please keep a watch on Mary for me?" Felix shuffled a little closer to him. "Make her a cup of coffee or tea or something? To calm her down, you know?"

"Got it," Don said.

And with that, the three of them (counting Gene) were off to _Hero's Duty_, the repetitive numbers still spilling from Gene's mouth as they went.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Okay, so after reading a couple paragraphs of this, you could see this coming a mile away. Whoops! Hope you enjoyed it in any case.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings: **None!

* * *

Life in Holding Cell A-3 wasn't all that bad, compared to what he was dealing with not even four days ago. At the moment, he was helping Pops do his crossword.

The smell of stout coffee permeated the room, a steaming cup of the stuff sitting atop a napkin on Pops's desk. Turbo never was a coffee drinker, but damn if it didn't smell good. Pops had a pencil in hand, squinting his eyes at the newspaper in front of him.

"You ready for another one?" Pops asked him.

"Yeah," Turbo said, staring up at the ceiling, which was, of course, made of metal. Everything around here was made of metal.

"All right. What's a six-letter word for 'sharp tooth'?"

Turbo turned the puzzle around in his mind. He counted a word on his fingertips.

"'Canine'?"

Pops growled. "How did I not think of that?" He penciled in the answer on his newspaper.

"What can I say? I'm the greatest."

"Yeah, yeah."

Pops had taken pity on Turbo and given him a book to read. Turbo wasn't much of a reader, but it was better than staring into metal nothingness all day. It was a mildly worn paperback, a murder mystery novel that seemed right up Pops's alley. It probably came from his personal collection. Turbo took the book out from under his pillow just as he heard footsteps coming his way. He stashed the book back under the pillow and lay his head on it for extra security. If it was that Calhoun lady coming around, she was likely to take it away, and box Pops's ears for giving it to him in the first place.

But it wasn't Calhoun at all. It was that other lady that had come to gawk at him his first night here. What was her name again? Turbo could only remember that she had refused to cough up her first name and insisted on going by her surname.

There was a heavenly smell radiating from her, a smell Turbo hadn't caught a whiff of in such a long time. He jumped off the bunk, as if his legs had a mind of their own, and floated over to the cell bars. He inhaled deeply.

"Hey, little dude," she said, giving Turbo an awkward half-wave. "I'm here to get you for your community service."

"Ah, great," Turbo said, rolling his eyes up to the (metal) ceiling. But he was actually kind of glad to be getting out of his cell for a while. Even though he'd probably be scrubbing floors with a toothbrush, or something.

"It was actually supposed to be Calhoun doing this," she said, "but she said she was busy, and I didn't ask any questions, so here I am."

"And what are you going to have our inmate doing today?" Officer Barnes-slash-Pops asked the woman. _What was her name? _ It was driving Turbo insane that he couldn't remember.

"Well," she said, "as you can probably smell, I've been working in the garage all evening, doing this and that. Calhoun said to make it punishment and not fun, so I think I'll have him…wash something, I dunno yet, really." She shrugged. "This is kinda short notice, so I haven't had a lot of time to think about it."

_She's been working in the garage_, Turbo thought. Motor oil. Gasoline. And all that other good stuff. That's what she smelled like.

"Okay, but I don't do windows," Turbo said.

The lady turned to face him, a crooked smile on her face. "All right, I'll see what I can do."

"You need him cuffed, right?" Pops asked.

"Yeah, Calhoun said to cuff him and get the key from you, then I'll undo him when we get back to the garage."

The warden hefted himself from his swivel chair and walked to the cell, not nearly as cautious as he was the first time he'd cuffed his prisoner. Turbo completely understood that everyone in this game was armed and dangerous. He wasn't about to try anything stupid. Not yet, at least.

"Have fun," Barnes said with a guffaw as the two of them left the holding cells.

Since Turbo wasn't instructed to walk in front of the woman, as he had been with Calhoun leading him to the interrogation room the other day, he walked beside her. This seemed to be okay with her, since she didn't say anything to the contrary. But she was walking really fast. He was trotting to keep up with her. Her legs weren't as long as Calhoun's, but Turbo just barely reached the woman's belly button.

"So what's your name again?" Turbo asked her. This time, none of the passerby seemed to be staring at him as much. Maybe they were all getting used to him being in their game.

"Adams," she responded. "And, uh…I sorta forgot your name, too."

He felt a little offended, until he remembered he'd done exactly the same thing to her.

"Turbo."

She laughed a little. "I remembered it was something vehicle-related."

The garage wasn't too far from the holding cells—about a minute and a half's walk. Adams tapped a code into the door's keypad and it slid open.

It was Adams's scent, but magnified. All the greasy gritty goodness that was a vehicle garage flooded back to him, and it was actually making him a little lightheaded. Not to mention that he never expected it to be this _big_. There must be fifteen, twenty cars (or whatever they were, they were triangular and weird-looking, but had four wheels) parked in there.

"Here we are," Adams announced.

Turbo held his wrists up to her. "Unlock me, sister."

She did, depositing the cuffs into a deep pocket in her uniform. "Okay, let's have you, uh…" She put her hands on her hips, looking around. "I've been putting off washing the rovers for a while, since you get all wet and nasty. Wanna do that?"

Turbo grimaced. "What's my other option?"

"Uh…there's not one."

Turbo shrugged, his mouth a thin line.

"Okay, lemme go get you some soap and scrubby brushes and all that jazz," she said. "I guess you better follow me. Calhoun said I shouldn't let you get further than five feet away from me."

"What'll you be doing while I'm washing these cars, then?" turbo asked her as they walked.

She didn't answer for a moment. "Guess I'll pull up a chair and watch you work."

"Wonderful."

All along the right-hand wall, there were shelves and shelves loaded with anything a mechanic could want. Admittedly, Turbo was never a full-time mechanic like Adams was, but he still used to love messing around in the garage. Suddenly he was insanely jealous of this woman, being able to spend her whole day in this magical place—but then again, if he had his way, he'd be racing instead.

"Here's a bucket," she said, handing him a ten-gallon item in question. She started throwing things he'd need into it. "And a big sponge…a scrubber with a little handle, you'll be needing that for sure…soap…wax…window cleaner…oh, nearly forgot the bug remover, you'll definitely be needing that…"

By now the bucket was full and she was throwing things into Turbo's arms. Shop rags, interior scrub, a detail brush, some kind of scrubber mitt with microfiber tentacles hanging off of it…

Adams looked at him with an amused expression. Turbo was about to topple over for all the shit she was making him hold.

"Heh. Maybe we need two buckets," she said.

The excess was dumped into another bucket, and while Turbo carried them, Adams went to the wall and turned a small red knob. A water hose snaked to life, spitting water out its end.

"I think we're ready. Wait! Ah, dang. Sit your buckets down."

They were heavy, so Turbo had no complaint about sitting them near the hose. "What?"

"Let's step in here for a second," she said, jabbing a forefinger at a door. No keypad, just an old-fashioned handle, like all the other doors in this game that didn't need to be secured and locked. Whatever was in there, then, was of no great importance.

They went in, and she flicked a light on. It looked like an office—a very messy office. She scooped up two magazines from the desk and grabbed the back of a chair.

"Okay, back out we go," she said, dragging the chair with her. She didn't bother shutting the door or turning the light off.

She got comfortable, reclining in the chair and cracking one of the magazines open. Turbo noticed it was some kind of automotive magazine. He picked up the hose, watching the arc of water spewing from the spout.

"Just start on that one," she said, pointing to the rover directly in front of them.

He frowned. "Are you really gonna make me do this? Aint there something…funner you need me to do around here?"

"It's not supposed to be fun," she said, crossing her combat boots at the ankles. "And 'funner' isn't a word, just so you know. Neither is 'aint.'"

Turbo wasn't sure what made him do it. Probably that smug look on her face after she'd corrected his grammar. Or it might've been how relaxed and at peace she was, reading her magazine, sitting in her office chair.

He put his thumb over the spout, intensifying the spray, and pointed the jet of water directly at Adams's face. She shot up from her chair, pushing her coke bottle glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her waterlogged magazines fell to the ground, soaked and ruined and forgotten.

"You little shit!" she screamed. She lunged for him, and Turbo was so shocked that she actually managed to catch him by the arm. He was planning on running, but he didn't quite get that far. She put him in a headlock and tore off his helmet.

"What are—you doing?" he gagged.

She balled a fist and rubbed his messy mohawk furiously. He'd never been noogied that hard in his life. His scalp was on fire.

"Stop, stop!" he yelled, squirming in her armpit.

She let him go, but only to grab the abandoned hose. She sprayed his face with it, and Turbo held his hands up to block what he could, coughing and spluttering.

"Okay, okay!" he hollered. "I'm sorry, awright? Quiddit! _Pfff_!"

Adams quit spraying him, lowering the hose to her side. Turbo squeezed what water he could out of his raggedy mop of hair. He'd put his helmet back on later, when his head dried.

"Jeez," he muttered.

"Now we're even," she said matter-of-factly. "Here's this back." She handed him the hose. Turbo looked at her with distaste.

"What's that look for?" she said. "I just got you back."

"Got me back?" Turbo snapped. "I didn't noogie you! That hurt, y'know."

"Oh, quit pouting," she said. "You'll live. Now get to washing."

**{*}**

By the time they wrestled Gene to the examining table, he was back to normal. Just like flipping a switch.

It was the damndest thing.

"Felix?" he said, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and fear. "Where in blue blazes am I?" He fought against the metal restraints locking his wrists and ankles to the table, but it did no good. He sighed, giving up the fight.

"Well," Felix started, smiling sheepishly. He told Gene the story of everything that had just transpired. Calhoun, standing alongside her three tech team members, listened with awe. Their faces conveyed their horror, but none were as terror-stricken as Gene.

"I…are you sure all that really happened?" he asked feebly.

"Ah…very sure," Felix replied, looking sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news. "In fact, I've still…" Felix pointed to the nick on his cheek. Gene grimaced.

"I had no idea…I know I felt feverish, a little headachy, but…I don't know what came over me," Gene muttered, blinking his eyes to ward away teardrops. "I really, really don't."

"That's what we're here to hopefully find out," one of the tech team members—a woman in a lazy ponytail—said in a soothing tone. "We're going to have a look at your code."

"May I…would you undo me from this table? I promise I'm through…making trouble."

Everyone looked to Felix. Why they assumed Felix to be responsible of Gene, he didn't know. But Gene was clearly much better, so he nodded.

Another one of the tech team members, a bushy-haired man, sifted through his pocket and produced a key. He stuck it into a hole in the table, turned it, and all four restraints unlocked simultaneously. Gene sat up, putting a hand to his head, wincing.

"You'll be fine with us testing you, I trust?" the third and final tech team member, an elderly woman with her (dyed?) red hair in a long plait, asked curtly.

Gene looked around at the four characters from _Hero's Duty_, then to Felix. Felix nodded, two discrete dips of his chin.

"I don't think I have much choice in the matter," Gene said.

"Good," the elderly woman said. "We'll get started immediately. There's no time to waste, I'm afraid."

"We'll leave you to it," Calhoun said, but it sounded more like an order than a mere statement. "We won't leave this game. I've got my communicator on me, so be sure to contact me as soon as you figure something out." Calhoun put a hand on Felix's shoulder as she talked, ushering him out the door.

"Yes, Sergeant," the three tech team members said in unison.

Ralph perked his head up when he saw Felix and Calhoun exiting the room. He was too big to fit inside there, so he'd had to wait out in the hall.

"Figure anything out?"

Calhoun shook her head. "We finally got him wrestled down and strapped to the table, and wouldn't you know the little bastard went back to his old self right when we were ready to look at his code." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that. No warning, no nothing."

"That's weird," Ralph said.

"Yeah," Calhoun muttered. "Luckily he agreed to go ahead and have his code tested now…though whether it'll do any good at this point, or not, I have no idea."

"That's surprising that he actually agreed to stay, I mean, I figured he'd wanna get out of here," Ralph said.

"I think he was a little…what do you call it…" Felix said. "Shell-shocked? I told him what he did, and all. I think he's upset."

"So what're we doing now?" Ralph asked. "Waiting?"

"You don't have to stay, Ralph," Felix said. "I'm sure Gene'll come peacefully now. I can get him back to our game on my own."

"Oh, I'll stay," Ralph said, waving a huge hand. "I've got nothing better to do. Besides, you might need these." He flexed his arm muscles. All of the passerby in the hallway got a free ticket to the gun show. Someone even applauded, which made Ralph crack a sideways grin.

"It never takes the tech team very long, anyway," Calhoun said. "They should have an initial analysis done within a few minutes."

So the three of them slouched in the hallway, passing idle conversation back and forth. Calhoun turned out to be right about them not taking long. Her communicator _be-beep_ed within five minutes of waiting.

Felix and Calhoun left Ralph in the hall again, re-entering the tech room through the sliding metal door. The tech team members were wearing expressions that didn't look very promising.

Along an entire wall, they had an image projected of an undulating, navy blue orb. Upon closer inspection, the orb was composed of impossibly small squares. The lazy ponytail woman walked over to the projection, which turned out not to be a projection at all, but rather some kind of interactive touch-screen. She double-tapped one of the squares.

A map of zeroes and ones burst forth from the square. "As you can see," she said as she pinched her fingers together on the screen. The number map minimized and disappeared, bringing the screen back to the orb. She tapped on another square, seemingly at random. The zeroes and ones didn't look much different, if different at all. "Gene's code is rather old-fashioned, but we're fairly certain we know what we're looking at. We've analyzed the binary, and we can't seem to find anything out of the ordinary."

"What she's trying to say," the bushy-haired man said, "is we have no idea why he behaved the way he did. He looks normal now."

"At least I'm back to normal," Gene sighed, slouching on the examination table.

"No anomalies in his code?" Calhoun said.

"Nothing our system picked up," the elderly woman said. "There's the extremely slim chance that there could be a virus hiding somewhere that our program failed to analyze, but that's highly unlikely."

"Look into it, anyway," Calhoun ordered. "I don't want to take any chances on this. Whatever's going on, it's apparently spreading. Also, I hope I don't need to mention that this goes no further than this room. If anyone asks about it, make something up, I don't care. But do _not _mention the possibility of a virus. The last thing I need is a riot on my hands."

"Yes, Sergeant," the three techies said together.

"Am I free to go?" Gene asked.

"For now," Calhoun said. "C'mon, we'll get you back to your game."

The three of them left the room, and Ralph knew better than to ask what had happened in a hallway full of eavesdropping ears. He waited till they all got on the exit tram before he asked about what had been discussed. Calhoun told him.

"So it…could still be a virus?" Ralph asked her.

"I suppose," she said. "Though we need to explore other options."

"Which are?" Gene asked from the seat behind her.

She sighed deeply. "I don't know."

The rest of the ride to Game Central Station was quiet after that.

* * *

**Author's Note: **This took a long time to write, and it isn't even that long...I just couldn't get into the writing groove, for some reason. (I think tumblr is ruining my brain a little.) I apologize for the update coming so late, and I'm hoping it doesn't sound too choppy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings: **Mild gore

* * *

Gene was dropped off at his apartment, the mess in Mary's all cleaned up. After those two things were taken care of, Ralph and Felix sat on the top step of the building for a much-needed breather.

"So they don't know what's up with Gene, huh?" Ralph said, picking absently at a fraying hole in his overalls.

"Nope," Felix sighed. "Whatever happened to Turbo is apparently happening here, now, though…it's very worrisome."

Ralph stiffened. "Wait—what's this about…did you say _Turbo_?"

Felix looked up at his pal, a little alarmed. "Well…yes. I assumed you knew."

"How could I have known?" he said, unable to keep the anger from tinging his tone. "Nobody ever tells me anything around here."

Felix swallowed. "I suppose I figured Vanellope filled you in on everything."

"I haven't seen her here lately," Ralph said, shaking his head. "Every time I go over to _Sugar Rush _to see her, those Oreo guards tell me she's busy. Presidential duties, or something." He grimaced. "Now that I say it out loud, it does sound fishy. I guess she was busy dealing with Turbo this whole time?"

Felix broke eye contact, staring at a square bird pecking at the ground. "You could say that."

"I don't like the sound of that," Ralph said. "Start talking." Then, catching his rough, tone, Ralph added, "Please. And don't leave anything out. Uh, please."

So Felix told him.

"What! There's no way Vanellope would do that. Or any of her friends, for that matter."

Felix shrugged. "That's what Turbo said. And I saw with my own eyes that he was in…rough shape. So he's not lying about that, at least."

"Well, I don't believe him," Ralph said, crossing his arms. "There must be something else going on." He stood up. "And I'm gonna find out what."

"There's only a couple hours till the arcade opens," Felix said hastily. "Why don't you wait until—"

"I can't wait! What if Vanellope's in danger?"

"Everybody _here _will be in danger if you leave so close to opening time!" Now Felix was standing, though he was nowhere near large enough to intimidate Ralph. "Please, I'm begging you. Just wait. I'll even go with you, if you want."

Ralph sighed, his shoulders slumping. "You really think she'll be alright if we wait?"

"She'll be fine," Felix reassured him. "We'll check on her at seven sharp. Why, I bet I could even get Calhoun to come with us, if that'd make you feel better."

"Let's not make that much trouble. The two of us can scope out the problem on our own."

"Then it's settled. As soon as the arcade closes, we'll head over. Sound good?"

Ralph grinned a little. "Sounds good."

But Felix's positivity did little to quell his worry. He slumped back to his apartment out behind the main structure, using every bit of his self-control to keep himself from running off to _Sugar Rush_.

**{*}**

Denise was slumped at her desk, running her eyes tiredly over yet another line of binary. So far, so good.

Ben and Gladys, the other two techies, had already called it a night. They'd left a couple hours ago, as a matter of fact. Denise knew she didn't have to stay, but she couldn't tear herself away from the tedious task.

_I'm just not buying that there's nothing here_, she thought. _There must be something the scan missed. There's just no other explanation._

Earlier, Calhoun had assigned the three of them to look over every nook and cranny of Gene's code, but Ben and Gladys hadn't taken her order very seriously. They skimmed over the raw data on their laptops for thirty minutes, tops. Definitely not enough time to study it well enough. Denise had been at it for hours now, and she was little more than halfway through. If she'd had some _help_, she'd be in her bed reinvigorating her own code right now. But no.

Another hour passed before she finally saw something out of the ordinary.

To the untrained eye, it probably looked fine. In fact, Denise nearly missed it. She didn't know what made her look at it again.

She zoomed in on a particular number zero, enlarging the number to five-thousand percent. There was something that looked like a blackish splotch—she couldn't see much other than that, but it was definitely out of the ordinary. She zoomed in even more, to ten-thousand percent. The suspicious mark now filled her entire laptop screen.

Her breath hung in her throat.

The blackish splotch was more defined now, taking on an oblong shape. Three stick-like legs protruded from each side of it, totaling six. Large black eyes blinked lazily, a number 0 for the left pupil, a 1 for the right. Its mandible worked slowly, chomping on the binary unit it clung to, swallowing square pieces bit by bit.

It was the smallest Cybug she'd ever seen.

"Oh, no," she muttered. "No, no. This isn't good."

Denise's first instinct was to call Sergeant Calhoun, but what good would it do to worry her an hour before the arcade opened? No doubt her performance would suffer, and that could be catastrophic.

Cybugs, as all residents of _Hero's Duty _knew, became what they ate. This fella munching on binary was…a binary destroyer. Despite the dire situation, she was intrigued. This was just a sample of Gene's code, not the Nicelander himself, so no host would be harmed if she…observed for a moment longer.

She grabbed a legal pad and a pen and started jotting down notes. The obvious solution was to create an antidote. That wasn't her strong suit—Gladys was who one needed to talk to about antidotes—but that still left many glaring questions in her mind. How would one kill a Cybug so small without harming the host? Why, exactly, did the Cybug make the characters it infected act like torturous heathens?

And how in the world was this Cy-virus spreading?

Cy-virus…she scribbled the hyphenated term onto her paper. That would be the working title for this dilemma.

The monochrome little bug ate its lunch without a care in the world.

**{*}**

His best chance at escape, Turbo thought, would be to sneak away during one of his "community service" things they were having him do. Granted, he only had one so far, but security was pretty lax. It was just that one girl. Adams, her name was. She had a gun, yeah—everybody around here did—but he doubted she'd be a good shot. If she was in charge of him again, which was likely, he could probably get away.

Sneaking off would be his best bet, so he'd have more of a chance to skedaddle before the whole game went into lockdown. He was purely estimating, but he was thinking he'd have about sixty seconds to get through the tram tunnel before Surge Protector shut it down.

And it went without saying he'd only have one shot at it. If he got caught, they'd throw him in the deepest pits of _Hero's Duty _for eternity. Or worse—they'd dump him back into _Sugar Rush _to be torn apart again.

Just the thought of going back there made him want to puke. But that's exactly where he'd head when he escaped. He'd have a look at the game's code, fix whatever was making the little brats go crazy, and reclaim his throne as King Candy. Except this time, he mused, he wouldn't bother disguising himself. What good would it do? Others would try to come into the game to stop him, he thought, but that was nothing a little firewall couldn't fix.

As much as he wanted those kiddos to have their just desserts—ha, ha—he needed them to race. What fun would it be to race around an empty track? The game would be unplugged for sure.

But they'd forget everything again. It was nothing he hadn't done before. Instead of just locking their memories away, though, he was hoping he could figure a way to delete them for good. Easier said than done, though—he could never figure out how to delete The Glitch, so he might have to settle for the way he did it the last time.

He'd stay in _Sugar Rush_ until another, better racing game came along, he thought. Or maybe he'd just stay in _Sugar Rush _indefinitely. In spite of everything, he'd grown kinda fond of the place.

He missed his King Kart and his salmon-colored castle. And he sorta even missed Sour Bill.

But the important part, he reminded himself, was escaping. Duh. He'd have to know a lot more about his surroundings before he'd try it, though. He figured he'd have a pretty solid plan in about six months.

In the meantime, he'd enjoy his vacation from racing. That's what he was calling it, his vacation. He'd be back at it in no time.

He'd make sure of it.

**{*}**

_"Attention residents, the arcade is now clo—"_

"Finally! Let's get outta here, c'mon, c'mon…"

Surge Protector's closing announcement rang throughout the _Fix-it Felix, Jr. _cabinet, but Ralph hardly paid any attention to it. He brushed mud off of himself in square clumps as he ran, splattering a couple Nicelanders that happened to be in his backdraft. He scooped Felix up in his hand as he ran past.

"Where are you going?" Mary yelled after them. She gave an uneasy glance in Gene's direction. Ralph didn't blame her.

Felix clambered onto Ralph's shoulder. "To _Sugar Rush_!" he hollered. "We'll be back soon!"

"I actually don't know how soon we'll be back," Ralph said to Felix.

"I figured not," Felix said. "It'll make her feel better if she thinks we're just running out and coming right back, anyway."

Ralph plopped his tiny friend into the tram, and off they went. Upon entering _Sugar Rush_, nothing seemed amiss. Then again, some pretty grisly torture had been going on right under their noses, so the game's outward appearance didn't make a whole hill of beans.

"Vanellope's probably in the castle, right?" Felix shouted up to Ralph. Felix had insisted not to be carried this time around (it was a little embarrassing) so he was running alongside his friend. Sprinting, more like, but he didn't want to complain.

"Yeah," Ralph panted. "Probably."

They ran up to the castle gates and were stopped by the Oreo guards, which was exactly what had happened to Ralph on his last two attempts to gain entrance. But this time, he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer.

"I apologize, sirs," the Oreo guard at the head of the pack said, "but Princess Vanellope is—"

"Yeah, yeah, she's busy, I know," Ralph said. He nudged the guard aside with his foot. "We'll only be a minute, right, Felix?"

Felix's eyes widened, but he played along. "Of course. We just need to deliver a message to her, is all. We'll be back out in a jiffy."

"Any official business will have to be rescheduled for a different date," the Oreo guard said. "President Vanellope is tending to important business."

"Look, I didn't want to have to do this," Ralph said. "Sorry about this."

He picked Felix up with a thumb and forefinger and dropped him on his shoulder. Felix had the sense to dig his fingers into the fabric of Ralph's plaid shirt. Hands splayed wide, head bared low, Ralph barreled through the crowd of guards, sending spears flying and rotund bodies rolling all over the place. The castle gate was closed, but of course, that didn't matter. The hard candy, which felt very much like it was made of jawbreaker-like material, crumbled under the swipe of his hand like sidewalk chalk. He stepped through the jagged, home-made entrance with ease.

"Hey!" yelled a voice Ralph remembered with distaste. It was Wynchel, one of the donut cops he'd had the misfortune of meeting on his first day in _Sugar Rush_. His other donut pal, Duncan, was right beside him. The pair were running straight toward him, police batons in hand. "You can't be in here! President Vanellope is—"

"I know, already!" Ralph said. He pushed past them, knocking both of them down. He ran straight ahead, into the throne room, looking left and right. Empty.

"Not here," Ralph said. "Where'd you say you found Turbo?" he said to the man clinging to his shirt.

"Ah—the dungeon," Felix said.

Ralph turned on his heels and headed in the direction he'd just come from. The Oreo guards were back on their feet, as were Wynchel and Duncan, and they were headed right for him. But all Ralph had to do was scoot them aside with his hands. Sometimes it was a good thing to be this big.

"Which way?!" he yelled to Felix.

"To the right!"

He skidded to the right. Behind them, the guards and two policemen were back on their feet and didn't look particularly happy, but they weren't gaining any ground with their tiny legs.

They reached the end of the hall, where the foreboding dungeon door loomed. Felix opened his mouth to tell him the door was jammed, and instead of busting it down Felix could hop down and fix it, but he didn't get a chance. Ralph punched the door and quite a bit of the surrounding wall into chunks of dark chocolate and candy cane.

It was a tight squeeze in the stairwell, but Ralph only had to bust apart one of the walls (and an innocent handrail attached to said wall) to squish through. At the foot of the stairs, Ralph stopped.

"Hear that?" he whispered to Felix.

Felix shut everything else out and concentrated on his hearing. There was a rustling sound, and some kind of odd squeaking noise.

"There's definitely some…thing down here," Felix whispered back, trying to swallow a lump in his throat.

From above them came a muffled sound: "They're the dungeon!"

A different voice: "We can't go down there, you know that!"

The rest was too distant for either of them to hear. While the popo was arguing amongst themselves, they had a small window of time to investigate. Felix clambered down from his perch on Ralph's shoulder and grabbed the Maglite from one of the loops on his toolbelt. He wouldn't be caught outside his game without a flashlight again, that was for sure.

He clicked it on and followed the sound, Ralph trying his best to walk quietly behind him. He realized that the sound was coming from Turbo's old cell. He stopped to listen again. There was some sort of…squelching sound that his ears picked up on now.

Unlike when Turbo was imprisoned, the cell door was wide open. Felix took a breath and shined his light inside.

They'd found Vanellope. Whatever anomaly had taken over Gene was currently controlling her, Felix was sure about that.

She was crouched on the ground, a candy cane clutched in her small fist, sharpened to a frightening point at one end. Beneath her other hand was a wriggling purple gummy bear, a citizen of _Sugar Rush_, no doubt, squeaking and squealing.

But the more it writhed under her chubby palm, the wider her grin became. Its middle was full of holes, purple goo from its candy center splattered all over the floor and Vanellope herself. She raised the candy cane high in the air, readying herself to plunge it once more into the gummy bear's stomach—

"Stop!"

"Don't!"

—But she paid no mind. Felix knew full-well that when she was like this, there would be no reasoning with her. Both men clamped their eyes shut as Vanellope stabbed the poor little gummy bear, a squeaky scream echoing within the tiny confines of the cell.

"What're you _doing_, kid?!" Ralph yelled. Gently, he scooted Felix to the side and picked Vanellope up in his hand. She immediately started stabbing at his hand with the candy cane, her disturbing smile ever-wide, but the candy couldn't puncture his rough palm. The tip of it broke off, clattering to the floor. She stared at it for a moment, perplexed, before dropping the candy cane in its entirety to the ground and settled on biting Ralph's palm instead.

That didn't hurt Ralph, either. He frowned, enclosing her in his fist, leaving only her head exposed. He raised her up to his eye level.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked her, but it wasn't a question directed at her—rather, he was thinking aloud. What could be wrong with her? What could possibly make his sweet little pal act this way?

"Whatever's wrong with Gene," Felix muttered. "I guess…I guess the virus, or whatever it is, is in our game now, too."

Suddenly, Ralph gasped. He had an idea.

"Felix!" he said, lowering his fist down to the handyman's level. "Hit 'er with your hammer! Wouldn't that fix her?"

"Well," Felix shrugged, "it's worth a try." He switched his Maglite to his non-dominant hand, and pulled his hammer out of his belt. Her head was twisting this way and that, trying to get free. He gave her head a gentle tap.

Nothing.

"Maybe you didn't do it hard enough," Ralph suggested, but it was clear by his tone that he didn't believe that. For his benefit, Felix tapped her with his hammer, a little harder that time. Still no change.

"No," Ralph muttered. "Why…why didn't that work?"

"My hammer only fixes things that're damaged," Felix said. "I guess she's not damaged. Technically speaking."

Suddenly, the two of them (and maybe Vanellope, who knows) heard the distant, muffled sound of barking. It was still a ways away, but it was getting closer.

"Devil dogs," Ralph muttered.

"I think we should get outta here before this turns into an even bigger mess," Felix suggested gently. "Don'tcha think?"

Vanellope was growling in Ralph's hand, gnawing with all her might at his index finger. His eyes fell to the floor, where the newly respawned gummy bear citizen cowered, whimpering.

"I can't leave her like this," Ralph said.

"But if we take her with us, she might…"

Ralph didn't have to ask Felix to finish his sentence. He knew. She might harm someone from their game. She might spread whatever was afflicting her to others. She might even hurt herself, and doing so outside her game could be deadly.

But he also knew she needed to be looked after in her current state. And they couldn't stay here a second longer. The devil dogs were so close that they could hear their pounding footsteps.

Ralph made a split decision. He stuffed Vanellope into the front pocket of his overalls and threw Felix in with her.

"Ralph, what in the world are you—!"

"Make sure she doesn't jump out," he told his pocket. "I'll get us out of here."

The devil dogs were just starting down the stairs when Ralph and company made it to the stairwell. Their chocolate sandwich maws were opened wide, dripping frothy cream filling down their jawlines.

Despite the fact that they were fully intent on ripping Ralph's throat out, he didn't want to harm them if he didn't have to. He snatched two of them up by their middles, sending a spray of vanilla filling all over his front. He tossed them back behind him, as gently as he could, but they still rolled unceremoniously down the stairs, whimpering.

There were eight more devil dogs to face as he battled his way up the stairs, but this time, he didn't squeeze them as hard. He had no idea if they if they were already on the rebound—he didn't have time to look—but he hurried up the steps regardless.

This time, the Oreo guards were ready for him. The devil dogs were simply a distraction. They closed in on Ralph in a half-circle formation, their spears pointed directly at him.

He raised his hands defensively. "Take it easy, guys…I don't wanna hafta hurt—"

But his words fell on deaf ears.

"_Now_!" cried one of the Oreo guards. All at once, they jammed their spears into Ralph's legs. Luckily, his overalls were made of thick material. And it didn't hurt anything that the Oreo guards had very weak stabbing power.

Ralph had squeezed his eyes shut when they made the move to spear him. He cracked one of them open. The spear points had punctured his pant legs, but only slightly. He could feel them scratching at his leg.

He brushed the spears away with the back of his hand and stepped over the guards with ease. They went chasing after their spears, the donut cops peering down the stairwell for their devil dogs.

"Doing okay in there?" Ralph said as he made a run for the castle door, pulling back his pocket flap. Felix had Vanellope's arms pinned to her sides as she thrashed about, a misting of sweat glistening on his face.

"We're fine," Felix said, forcing a smile up at Ralph.

"Good. We're nearly outta here, don't worry."

Ralph glanced behind him. The guards had regrouped, and they were following him, but it wouldn't do them any good. They'd never catch him now. Ralph whistled in relief.

"We're home free," he yelled to his pocket.

He hurried up the rainbow bridge and out the exit tram, the guards no longer bothering to chase after him. They'd lost him.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Welp. I know a lot of people think the "Cybug causes a hootenanny" thing is an overused plot device, and I guess you could be right. But I think I can work with it...heheh. Also, I know this chapter is kind of all over the place and ends a little awkwardly, but I think it turned out ok.


	8. Chapter 8

**Warnings: **None!

* * *

"Mornin, ladies."

Officer Barnes nodded to the two women who'd just walked into the doorway. "Don't tell me you're here for Turbo, he can't be that lucky to get _two _of you." He laughed at his own joke.

At the mention of his name, Turbo dogeared his book and tucked it under his pillow. He looked up to see Adams, whom he knew, and a blonde he didn't.

Adams's rash looked worse today. The second Turbo's eyes noticed it, she reached up to scratch at it. Unlike the last time he'd seen her, though, she looked like she'd taken a brush to her shock of short brown hair. Maybe she hadn't knocked around in the garage yet, hence her somewhat put-together look.

The woman beside her was…something else, would be the only nice way Turbo could think to say it.

Her hair was pulled into high, fluffy pigtails with pink ribbon. The metal portion of her armor was covered in stickers of hearts, unicorns, cats, penguins, stars, clouds. Her makeup was thick and dramatic, the most eye-drawing thing being the metallic lavender eye shadow she was sporting.

"Yup, that's who we're here for," said the blonde. "Sarge is busy again today and can't do it." She punctuated her sentence with a roll of her eyes. Then, under her breath to Adams, she added, "Or so she says." Adams allowed herself a slight smile.

"And what kind of grueling punishment have you two cooked up for our inmate today?" Barnes asked them.

"He's going to finish what he started in my garage," Adams said, looking over at Turbo. "Washing rovers."

"Sounds fun," Barnes said. "Let me get him out of there for you."

Turbo allowed his wrists to be cuffed without making any fuss, and the two girls led him out into the hall. They walked beside him, Adams on his right, the blonde on his left.

"Say," he said to Adams, "who's the, uh…who's ya friend, here?"

"Who, me?" the blonde said, jabbing a finger into her chest. "I'm Katie. But you can call me—" She whipped a machete from she sheath at her back, hovering the blade a hair's breadth away from Turbo's nose. "_Pinkblade_."

"Pinkblade?" Turbo mocked. "That sounds like the name of a sex position, or something."

"_Thank _you," Adams said.

"Both of you shut up," Katie pouted, sliding her machete back into its sheath. "I thought it was cool."

"Well, it isn't," Turbo said. He glanced up at Adams. She had her lower lip sucked into her mouth, suppressing a laugh.

Katie reached down and pinched him hard on his arm.

"_Ow_!"

"Be nice, or we'll make your community service even harder."

Turbo mumbled a few creative expletives under his breath as he followed the two ladies down the hall, toward the garage.

**{*}**

Calhoun gripped an empty syringe in her hand, her facial features pinched in concentration.

"You're gonna have to hold her a little more still than that," she said through gritted teeth.

"I'm trying not to hurt her," Ralph said.

He had Vanellope wrapped up in one of his hands, using the thumb and forefinger of his other hand to hold her arm out. They'd finally managed to roll up her jacket sleeve, exposing the sweaty skin underneath. But her arm was jerking far too wildly for Calhoun to get a blood sample.

"It'll hurt her worse if I blow a vein," Calhoun said. "Pull her arm a little tighter."

It would be very easy for Ralph to pull her arm out of socket, so pulling her arm taut was a harder task than it sounded. He willed a bit more strength into his fingers, tugging ever so gently at the tiny girl's arm. Vanellope was still fighting tooth and nail, but it was the best to be hoped for.

"How's that?" Ralph asked.

Calhoun jerked her head back, flopping a stray clump of hair out of her eyes. "Bout as good as we can hope for, I think. Here I go—hold her steady."

As soon as the needle poked through her skin, Vanellope screeched like a dying banshee. Ralph hadn't paid any notice that her teeth were sunken into his finger, but when she bit down even harder, he definitely felt it. He nearly lost his grip on her, but he just had to keep reminding himself that he'd felt worse. He'd felt worse. He'd felt worse.

Calhoun pulled up on the stopper, a slow trickle of red welling in the chamber.

"Hold her, hold her, almost done, hold her…"

Out went the needle, and to replace it, a thick pad of gauze and some tape to secure it. Calhoun capped the tip of the syringe and handed it over to Gladys, one of the three techies.

Gladys took it gingerly, grasping it with both hands. "I hope this live sample will…help out."

"Begin examination immediately," Calhoun ordered. "Conduct testing if necessary. Let me know as soon as you find anything."

"Yes, Sergeant."

Gladys departed through a doorway with a swish of her long braid. Calhoun turned her attention to the two remaining techies, Denise and Ben.

"Ready the observation chamber."

"Yes, Sergeant." They took the door to the right of the one Gladys just breezed through.

"Observation chamber?" Ralph said. "What's that?"

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Calhoun said in a gentler tone than what she'd taken with her tech crew. "All it is, is a room with nothing in it. One wall is two-way glass, and Ben and Denise—the two I were just talking to—will make note of her behavior. We won't have to restrain her unless she starts harming herself. Felix, why are you fixing that? Ralph's just going to have to break it down again to get himself out of here."

Felix grinned sheepishly, hiding his golden hammer behind his back. "Force of habit, I guess." He walked over to where the two of them were standing, near the observation table where they'd previously attempted to subdue Vanellope. He looked up at the squirming girl with somber eyes. "She's, uh…she's been acting up a lil longer than Gene did, huh?"

"Probably because she's been infected longer than he has," Calhoun said. "With whatever is making her do that." Denise had filled her in on the microscopic Cybug she'd seen chomping away at Gene's binary, but she didn't dare say that now. Especially not within wrecking distance of Ralph.

"When do you think you'll know something?" Ralph asked her, the worry apparent in his voice.

"The tech team work quickly," Calhoun said. "Still, there's new data to collect and analyze, plus the comparison to the data we gathered from Gene—"

Ben poked his head out of the right-hand door. "The observation chamber is ready, Sergeant."

"Thank you." She outstretched her arms. "I think I can wrestle her long enough to get her in there."

Reluctantly, Ralph put his clawing, kicking, biting friend into Calhoun's arms. Calhoun held her out at arm's length.

"I'll let you know as soon as we figure anything out," she said with some difficulty. Holding Vanellope was already taking a lot out of her. "You two go on back home, try to get some rest."

Felix nodded. "We'll try."

Ralph had to break himself out of the room with the tiny doorway, but it was nothing Felix couldn't fix again. After they tidied things up, the two of them headed back to their game, Felix taking the lead.

Ralph slinked along behind him. He had a lot on his mind. His friend was sick. Was it Turbo's fault? It had to be. It took everything in him not to run after the little twerp and beat some information out of him.

Then again…Felix was not a liar. If Felix said he saw Turbo in the _Sugar Rush _dungeon, barely clinging to a life, then that was the honest gospel. But still, something wasn't adding up. What could possibly be wrong?

He felt a gentle hand patting his forearm. "C'mon, buddy. We're here."

Ralph lifted his head up. He'd traveled through one tram ride and then another without realizing it. He was back home in _Fix-it Felix, Jr. _already. Being as worried about something as he was really puts your mind on autopilot, he figured.

"We've got quite a while until the arcade opens," Felix said, walking alongside Ralph, escorting him back to his apartment. "Maybe Calhoun will let us know something before then. Just…try to get your mind off of it for a little bit."

"I dunno," Ralph mumbled. "Kinda hard to do that, y'know? I'm…I'm worried about my kid."

His kid…that's the kind of sickness he was feeling. It must be very similar, if not identical, to a frazzled father obsessing over his sick daughter.

"I know," Felix reassured him, giving Ralph another pat on the arm. (He was a touchy guy. Ralph was surprised he hadn't been hugged yet.) They were at the stairs to Ralph's apartment now. Felix waited at the foot of them while Ralph trundled up.

"And if you need somebody to talk to…well…you know where to find me."

Ralph gave a small chuckle, glancing up at the penthouse of the main Niceland apartments. "Yeah. I think I remember where you live."

"Take care, neighbor."

"You, too."

Ralph walked inside his apartment, shutting the door behind him with a finalizing thud. He didn't know what to do with himself. He was too wired to sleep. For a moment he thought about taking a walk, to possibly clear his head, but he didn't want to risk someone come by with news about Vanellope and him not be there.

He eventually settled on TV. There were only six channels, and they played the same handful of shows over and over again on a loop, but it would be good background chatter.

The couch was soft and relaxing. Maybe he'd be able to zone out for a minute and relax, after all.

**{*}**

"So, what're you supposed to be?" Katie asked Turbo.

Turbo had weaseled his way into stopping for a quick break. He had his racing suit unzipped down to his hips, his black undershirt soaked in soap suds. Pretty much all of him was waterlogged. He realized quickly that trying to stay dry washing cars was not happening. He sat his butt down on an overturned bucket, Katie and Adams resting more comfortably in their lawn chairs.

He could answer Katie's question with lots of things. "Be more specific."

"I mean, are you a platformer dude, or what?"

He pursed his lips at her. "Look." He pointed to his helmet, which was sitting over by Adams for safekeeping. "Helmet." He fanned his hands down his front. "Racing suit. Do I look like a platformer to you?"

"Rude," Adams mumbled.

Katie cracked a smile at her comment. Then she looked to Turbo and shrugged. "I dunno. You just look like you're from some old game, I guess."

Old. _Old_? That stung. Turbo crossed his arms.

"I'm from a racing game," he said. "A _vintage _racing game."

"So he's not old, he's just vintage," Adams joked to Katie. They snickered.

"Oh, now who's rude, huh?" he said, glaring at them icily. He stood up with a catlike stretch. "I'd rather be scraping off bug guts than talking to you two." He walked back over to the rover he was currently working on, picking up his scrub brush and getting back to work on the grille.

"Were we too harsh?" Katie asked Adams, saying the comment without looking up from her copy of _Melee Weapon Monthly_.

"Pff. Nah."

But Adams wondered. Part of her justified picking at Turbo for what he'd done in the past (which she still didn't know exact details of, but she knew it was bad). Then again, she didn't want to be mean to him for no reason of her own.

Adams decided to go and talk to him. She'd feel bad if she didn't.

"What're these things _made _of, anyway?" Turbo said as she approached, picking a flathead screw out of a smattering of green gunk. "I guess some kinda metal? And…" He stuck his finger in the mysterious green substance. "Somethin else."

_You should know, _Adams said to herself. _By the way Calhoun tells it, you were eaten by one. _

"Dunno," Adams said. She wanted to apologize, but she didn't know how to go about doing it. Like ninety-nine percent of the characters in _Hero's Duty_, she didn't like to openly display weakness.

"You don't talk much," Turbo said, glancing at her over his shoulder. He scrubbed awhile, then glanced again. "You're kinda starting to freak me out, here. Am I doing it wrong, or somethin?"

Adams blanched. "No, you're fine. _Doing_ fine, I mean." She scratched at her rash.

"Shouldn't scratch that," Turbo said.

She yanked her hand away from her face. "I know. Look, I just wanted to say I didn't…I wasn't trying to make fun of you a minute ago."

Turbo turned to face her now. "What, with the 'old' comments?" He flapped his hand at her. "Please. I've been called worse."

"Uh…well, I just didn't want you to think I was being mean."

Turbo went back to his cleaning with a shrug. When seconds passed and Adams was still standing there, wondering what to say next, he looked over his shoulder at her again.

"Don't worry about it," he said dismissively.

"We're good?"

Turbo stopped to give her a confused look. "I guess?"

"Okay, then." She went back to her seat next to Katie, picking up her automotive magazine, flipping to a random page.

Katie scooted her chair closer to Adams's, so close that the arms of the chairs touched.

"What was that?" Katie said in a low voice, out of Turbo's earshot, giving her friend a sly smile.

"What was what?"

"You like him," Katie said with a grin.

Adams didn't even know what to say. She scoffed, to try and buy some time. When nothing came to mind to say back, she scoffed again.

"I do not," was what she ended up saying.

"Then what was all that apologizing for?" Katie said. "He's murdered people, I hope you know."

"I know that! _But I don't like him like that so it doesn't matter_!"

Katie grinned an _I clearly don't believe you_ look. "You couldn't hear yourself talking to him. You definitely like him."

"Is this third grade?" Adams whisper-yelled. "Really? Are we arguing about who I do and do not have a crush on? And do you really think I'd have a crush on…_him_?"

"He's kinda cute, if you squint," Katie noted.

"It doesn't matter what he looks like! He's _insane_!"

"Oh, that's no big deal. Just keep your gun with you at all times and I bet he'll be okay."

"I am done talking about this," Adams said at normal volume, returning to staring at her magazine.

"We'll talk about it later, after you have time to sort your feelings out."

Adams opened her mouth to retort, but she didn't want to go down _that _road again. She just shook her head.

Turbo walked over to them a minute later, sitting his bucket of suds and sponge near Katie's chair. He collapsed, snow angel-style, to the ground before them.

"I'm _tired_," he exhaled. "Haven't worked that hard in…" He thought for a moment. "Never, I guess."

Katie nudged him with her boot. "Who said you could take a break, prisoner?"

Without looking up, Turbo stuck his middle finger up at her. Katie kicked him a little harder.

"I suppose you've done enough work today," Adams said. "What do you think, Katie?"

"Oh, I guess." She stood up. "Ready to go back to your cell?"

"As opposed to staying here?" Turbo said, pulling his tired body to its feet. "Yes."

**{*}**

Ralph had zoned out. He was watching a pudgy Nicelander in fishing garb cast a line into a lake, explaining in his chipper voice all about what kind of bait he'd speared on the end of his hook. Ralph had seen this exact same episode no less than a dozen times, and he could just about quote it word for word, but it served its purpose well—it was very, very mind-numbing.

When he heard the urgent knocking at his door, he bolted out of his custom-made easy chair, scrambled through the living room and entryway, and just about pulled the door off its hinges.

It was Felix and Calhoun, exactly who Ralph was hoping it would be. They looked a little surprised at his bursting through the doorway, but their faces quickly returned to normal.

"My tech team's made their analysis," Calhoun said. "Unfortunately, we—"

"How's Vanellope?" Ralph interrupted.

"She's doing just fine," Calhoun reassured him. "Confused, but fine." Calhoun turned on her heel, beckoning for Ralph and Felix to follow. They did.

"When did she, uh…come back to her senses?" Ralph asked as they walked.

"About twenty minutes ago," Calhoun said over her shoulder. "Once she returned to normal, she demanded I explain to her what was going on"—she shrugged—"which I can understand."

"How did she take the news?"

"She _said _she didn't believe me. You know, about what she'd been doing. But I could tell by the look on her face that she knows I'm telling the truth."

The three of them boarded the tram that would take them out of Niceland and into Game Central Station, Calhoun and Felix in one car, Ralph in his own.

"Poor kid," Ralph muttered, eyes downcast. He couldn't even imagine what Vanellope was going through. She was probably confused. Scared. Angry. Ralph didn't have the slightest idea what he could do to help, but he couldn't do anything in Niceland. He needed to get to her. And the tram was going maddeningly slow.

"She'll be okay," Felix said, reaching back to give Ralph a pat on the arm.

Calhoun wasn't one for eye contact, so she didn't look directly at Ralph, but past his head somewhere. "She's in good hands," she said.

"I know," Ralph muttered. "I just feel so useless, y'know? I wish I could _do _something."

"You'll be doing something by visiting her," Felix said. "I'm sure she'll feel a lot better once you're there with her."

"Maybe," Ralph said, but he really didn't know. After all, he was the one that brought her to _Hero's Duty _to be examined. He was the only one who _could _bring her in, the way she was acting. He hated to admit it to himself, but…she might not trust him anymore.

Surely she knew he was just trying to do the best thing for her, Ralph tried to tell himself. Surely she'd understand.

Surely.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I know right now it seems like Turbo has been reduced to a subplot, but don't worry - he's not. Just you wait...

I kinda know where I want this story to go, I just don't know how I'm going to get there yet. Hopefully the next update will be timely. I'll try my best!(:


	9. Chapter 9

**Warnings: **Moderate gore

* * *

"Kid!"

"Ralph!"

Vanellope leapt into Ralph's open arms, embedding her fingers and shoes into his skin, clinging for dear life.

"I'm so confused," she wailed. "I don't know who to believe, why I'm here, I mean, I'm hearing all these crazy stories and I just...I dunno..."

"Hey," Ralph said. Gently, he pulled her off of his arm and held her in his cupped palms. "Don't you worry about it. You're gonna be fine. Everything's fine." He tried to put on a winning smile. But Vanellope hardly noticed.

Vanellope shook her head. "I'm sick." At that, her voice cracked. She was never one to cry, but Ralph could see the tears pricking at her eyes, ready to fall without much provocation.

"You're not sick," Ralph told her.

"Yes I am. First I'm a glitch, and now I'm a virus. That's real great." She swiped at her eyes with her jacket sleeves before they could roll down her face.

"You are definitely not a virus," Ralph said with finality. "You're just...just a little..."

He didn't know what to say to her. He didn't want to upset her, of course he didn't, but he wasn't crazy about lying to her, either.

Luckily he was spared from having to choose the lesser of two evils. Calhoun and Felix had been standing at a polite distance from the pair, but now joined the bittersweet reunion in the _Hero's Duty _main hallway.

"I just hate that we had to take you out of your game without you knowing about it," Felix said, wringing his hands. "And, well, we more-or-less intruded on your privacy, too, me and Ralph. But we were worried about you, that's all."

"And since you were still…active," Calhoun said carefully, "we got a lot of solid data about this…occurrence. Not a very comforting fact, I know, but I think you'd want to know it wasn't all for nothing."

Vanellope shut her eyes for one, two seconds. She slowly slid them open. "Just tell it to me straight," she said, directing her voice to Calhoun. "Am I gonna die?"

"You're not gonna die," Ralph said.

Vanellope gave him a half-smile that seemed to say, _I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it aint working. _"Well?" she said to Calhoun.

"This is the honest truth," Calhoun said. "I've got an excellent tech team here. And they're working with the medical team as we speak, who are also great at what they do. So in answer to your question, kiddo—no, I don't think you're going to die." She smiled as warmly as she could muster. "You'll be just fine."

Vanellope hopped down from Ralph's hand. She started pacing, hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets, brow furrowed in worry. "Part of me wants to believe that, but…" She took a sharp intake of breath, looking up at Calhoun. "And is it true about…y'know, about…Turbo?" The last word came out as scarcely more than a whisper.

Calhoun and Felix nodded.

"You saw him? With your own eyes?"

They nodded again.

"And had I really…?"

Nod, nod.

Vanellope swallowed. "Please tell me you…you know where he is now."

"Don't worry about that," Calhoun assured her. "I've got him here, in the holding cells. 24-hour surveillance and everything."

"At least there's that," Vanellope sighed. She allowed her face to relax a little. "Awhile back I had a dream I found Turbo—tied up in Laffy Taffy vines. But I guess that wasn't a dream after all, huh?" She shrugged.

"You caught him somehow," Calhoun said. "But we've got him locked up good and tight. Just put that in the back of your mind."

"Focus on getting better," Felix said with a smile.

"But how am I supposed to _do _that, though?" she cried. "I don't even know what's wrong with me! _How can I get better if I don't know WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!"_

"Calm down, Van," Ralph said softly, kneeling down to get closer to her level.

"_I CAN'T!"_

She didn't even bother to wipe the tears away now. Two thin lines of saltwater streaked down her cheeks. "How do I know I'll ever get better? How do I know you'll find a cure? How do I…how…?"

Felix fished a handkerchief from his jeans pocket. He shook the folds out and handed it to Vanellope. She took it and swiped at her face.

Calhoun crouched down to Vanellope's level. "I think you'd feel better if you saw my guys in action—take a look at how much progress they've already made." She cocked her head in the direction of the tech department doorway. "Wanna go take a look?"

Vanellope twisted the handkerchief in her hands. "I guess," she mumbled. She glanced behind her shoulder at her large friend. "But Ralph can't fit in there."

"I'll wait outside," he reassured her. "You go on in."

"Alright."

Calhoun tapped her password into the keypad of the tech team door. A tinny acceptance beep sounded and the door slid open. Calhoun walked on through, but Vanellope hesitated. Felix gave her a pat on the shoulder. This seemed to give her the encouragement she needed. With careful steps, she made her way inside, Felix following close behind her.

She looked over her shoulder at Ralph. He gave her a thumbs-up. She gave a slight smile in response.

The three techies—Gladys, Ben, Denise—were busy at their laptops analyzing data. Vanellope couldn't tell how they could gather anything useful from the numbers they were staring at so intently, but at any rate, they seemed like they were trying hard.

"Great timing, Sergeant," Denise said, not looking up from her computer. "I would've come to you, but I was afraid you were resting up for tomorrow's arcade hours. We've got a favor to ask. We need t—"

"Let me interrupt you a sec," Calhoun said. "Vanellope"—she gestured toward the girl standing at her calf—"is understandably worried about her predicament. Would you care to explain what you're working on?"

"And I'm smarter than I look," Vanellope informed them, crossing her arms. "So don't patronize me."

Gladys, the elderly techie, looked appalled at the girl's forwardness, but Ben and Denise each cracked a grin.

"I'll try not to," Denise said. "But I do think it'd be easier for you to see if you'd stand on the desk, here. Care if I lift you up?"

"Fine," Vanellope said, holding her arms up. "But it's not because I'm little. I'm just…short, okay?"

"Agreed," Denise said. Denise grabbed Vanellope up by the armpits and hoisted her up to the desktop.

"Ben, you wanna go first?"

The only male techie nodded. "On my screen right now is your binary—your code."

"Right," Vanellope said.

"I'll zoom in for ya. Here's the problem." He set his zoom setting to ten thousand percent. The Cy-Virus chomped merrily away at a number one in Vanellope's code, unaware that it was being watched.

"_That _thing is…no," Vanellope muttered. "No, no."

Felix motioned for Calhoun to lean her head down. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he whispered in her ear.

"She's gotta find out eventually," Calhoun whispered back. "I think knowing is better than wondering, at this point."

"Maybe you're right," Felix agreed.

"Don't you worry," Gladys, who had been quiet up until then, said. "I'm working on an antidote right now."

"But how did this even happen, though?" Vanellope asked her. "I mean, it's clearly a Cybug, so it came from this game, right?"

"Yes, it did," Gladys said. "And we don't know how it spread to your game, and to Felix's game—"

"Felix's game?" She looked over at the man in question. "Are you sick? Is Ralph sick?"

"No, the both of us are fine," Felix assured her. "It's one of my neighbors named Gene, I don't believe the two of you've met yet."

"But Gene has been infected recently," Ben said. "We know that because we looked at your binary and his side-by-side. It's possible that it has spread to others and hasn't made itself evident yet, but as of right now, Gene is the only one infected."

"What about _Sugar Rush_?" Vanellope asked, eyes wide. "Is anybody else in my game infected?"

Calhoun decided to answer that one. "We're not sure yet. But if anything Turbo says is to be believed…there are other possible infections."

Vanellope's entire body sagged. "No."

"But we're working fast, we promise," Denise told her. "There are still some things we don't know, but even if we can't answer all of the questions we want to right _now, _we should have an antivirus ready in two days."

"But I've been sick for a long time, if Turbo's telling the truth about that—which he probably isn't, but if he is—what if I…mutate, or something?"

Despite the grim sentiment, Ben smiled. "Based on what we know about Cybugs already, I highly, highly doubt you'll mutate. I think you'll be just fine until we get an antivirus ready."

The relief was obvious on Vanellope's face. "Really?"

"Really," Ben replied.

"So all I can do is wait, huh?"

"Yup."

"Can I still race, or…?"

"I'd go ahead and race," Gladys jumped in. "Not to worry you any more than we already have, but we're not sure what triggers the anger episodes yet. It seems random. Not to be insensitive, but it won't matter where you are."

"Gee, thanks," Vanellope muttered.

"You said not to patronize you," Gladys quipped.

"Yeah, I guess I did say that," Vanellope said glumly. She hopped down from the table. "I guess I've just gotta depend on you guys."

"Hey," Denise said. "We're the best. We'll figure this out, don't you worry."

Vanellope tried to smile, but could only curve her lips into a straight line.

"We'd better get you back home," Felix said. "It's only two hours before the arcade opens."

"Okay," Vanellope said. She looked up at Calhoun. "You'll let me know as _soon _as you hear anything from these guys?"

Calhoun nodded. "You'll be the first to know."

"I can walk myself home."

"Nah, we'll go with you," Felix said.

The three headed for the door, but Gladys motioned for Calhoun to stay. "Hold up a second, Sergeant. We have to ask you something."

She nodded. "You guys go ahead," she said to Felix and Vanellope. They nodded and said their goodbyes.

Calhoun slid the door shut behind them.

"What's up?" she said.

"We need a favor from you," Gladys said. "Or, more specifically, we need permission to do something, which is akin to a favor."

"I don't like the sound of that," Calhoun said. "What is it?"

"Well, when we were telling Vanellope about making the antivirus, we…" Gladys started.

"…Stretched the truth. Quite a bit," Denise finished for her. "We're still thinking we can get an antivirus ready in two days, but only if we get your permission for something."

"Which is?" Calhoun said with a quirked eyebrow, a note of impatience in her voice.

"Well, there's still one set of data we need to analyze before we can even think about making an antivirus," Gladys said.

"We need to find out more about a Cybug's effect on a character's binary," Ben said. "We could conduct experiments, I guess, but we were thinking there's a perfect specimen already—in the holding cells."

"Turbo?" Calhoun said.

The three techies nodded.

"Well, I don't have a problem with it," Calhoun said. "But he won't do it willingly. You'll have to get a NPC to subdue him to get a sample from him. Katie would be good, she's got experience with hand-to-hand combat."

"We didn't think you'd mind, but we needed to make sure," Denise said.

"Well," Calhoun said, stretching, "as you know, the arcade opens in a couple hours. I need to get back to my bunker and rest a little. Before I do that, I'll go and rouse Katie, have her meet you at the holding cells. As soon as you get that sample, get to work analyzing it. I want an update as soon as the arcade closes for the day."

"Yes, Sergeant," the three subordinates said at once.

**{*}**

By the looks of things, Turbo was not having a restful sleep. At all. He'd kicked his blanket to the floor and his fitted sheets had popped off the corners of his mattress. A fine layer of sweat misted his forehead. He had his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth pulled into a grimace.

"Guess he's having a nightmare?" Katie said to Officer Barnes.

"Night _terror_, more like," Barnes said. "He's only been here three, four days, and every time he goes to sleep he does that. Pretty soon he'll start the moaning and the groaning. Kinda wanna ask him what he dreams about, y'know?"

"He probably wouldn't tell you," Katie shrugged. "Anyway, I guess it's good that I need to wake him up, if he's having that bad a time."

"Wouldn't it be easier to get that blood sample from him while he's asleep?" Barnes asked.

Katie shook her head. "Ehh, I don't think so. Once the needle goes in, it'd definitely wake him up, and what would _you _do if you woke up with a needle jabbed in her arm?"

Officer Barnes chuckled. "I don't guess I'd be very happy about that, come to think of it."

"And you _aren't _a convicted murderer."

He laughed again. "Not that I know of. You ready for me to unlock his cell, dear?"

Katie gave herself a quick patdown to make sure she had everything: the empty syringe, which was the most important thing; a taser in case things got out of control, because she really didn't want to use anything that had a blade or a point; good, thick rope; throwing knives; and her machete, of course.

"Ready."

As he stuck the key in the lock, which was oddly old-fashioned for such a futuristic place, Barnes said, "I'll help you hold him down, if he gets antsy."

"Maybe it won't come to that."

Barnes slid the cell door open as quietly as he could muster. Turbo didn't seemed bothered by the noise. He was too preoccupied with whatever kind of hellish nightmare he was experiencing.

"Geez," Katie muttered, creeping up to the edge of the bunk bed. "You say he does this every night?"

"Yeah," Barnes mumbled back to her. "I know he's…well, y'know. But it's kinda sad, huh?"

Turbo was saying something under his breath, his lips barely moving. The sound was hardly audible, and neither Barnes nor Katie could comprehend what Turbo was saying, if he was even making words. Katie thought she heard the word "never," but she could just be imagining things.

Katie grabbed Turbo's arm, the one furthest away from her, and gave it a shake. "Hey, wake up," she said in a voice slightly lower than her normal tone.

But it was apparent now that Turbo was in a deep sleep. If he felt Katie shake his arm, he wasn't showing it.

"Hey," she said, louder. She put a hand on either of his shoulders and shook. "I need you to do me a favor, so it's time to wake up for a second."

Nothing.

Katie sighed. She pinched the plump skin of Turbo's cheek. Hard.

Turbo snapped his eyes open, wide with childlike fear, and sucked a shaky breath into his lungs. He bolted into a sitting position, panting.

"Hey, calm down, dude," Katie said in a soothing voice. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "It was just a dream. You're cool now."

Turbo shrugged her arm away from him. His eyes darted from Katie to Barnes, back to Katie. The apparent terror he was experiencing had de-aged him about fifteen years. He looked like a scared shitless teenager.

"Guess I better give you a second to calm down, huh," she said to him.

"Why are you guys in here?" he asked. His tone was confused, breathy.

Katie and Officer Barnes exchanged concerned glances. Despite Turbo's history of being a bad guy (and that would be putting things lightly), it was hard not to feel a pang of empathy. The two of them didn't know a whole lot about Turbo, but they knew enough to know that something must be seriously wrong for him to be acting like this.

Katie sighed. She may as well tell him, she thought—she'd have to eventually. "I know this is gonna sound pretty weird, but I actually need a sample of your code. Well, _I _don't need it. The technical-slash-medical department needs it."

She thought of showing him the needle, then thought better of it. Instead, she patted her pocket where it was located. She did her best comforting smile, though it didn't appear to have helped any.

Turbo drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around him, hiding his face from view with his legs. "I know I'm acting stupid. I, uh…had a rough dream."

"Nah, I get it," Katie said. Barnes nodded in agreement, though Turbo didn't see him do it. "Nightmares are rough. They feel real sometimes."

Turbo peeked up at her, then returned his head to its hiding spot. "Yeah," he said bitterly. "They do."

"You wanna, uh…take a breather before I stick ya, or do you just wanna get it over with?"

That got Turbo's attention. His head sprang up. He visibly stiffened. "Whadddya mean, 'stick' me?" he said carefully.

Again, Katie let out a defeated sigh. She didn't have much choice in the matter, she thought. She pulled the sharps container from her deep cargo pocket and opened up the plastic snap-lid. Inside was a not-so-small syringe with a capped end.

"You're not poking me with that," Turbo said. It was not a suggestion. It was a command.

"Sorry, guy. I have to."

Now Turbo's eyes darted around the room. Barnes knew that look. He was trying to map out a way to escape. Barnes backed up to the cell door, holding the door from catching in the lock with his hand, but otherwise blocking Turbo's exit.

"We were hoping you'd just be cooperative," Barnes piped up.

The ajar cell door was Turbo's only sliver of hope at getting out, and, not surprisingly, it was now blocked. Barnes stood at the door, barring him from leaving, and Katie was in front of him with a needle in a box, a _huge fucking _needle, and he just couldn't deal with it.

He knew it was going to happen, but he didn't know how hard it was going to hit him. It was almost like he was _there _again.

Tiny little grubby hands grabbed at him, held him down. He might've been able to fight them off, if there hadn't been six of them working together. He didn't even try to fight it anymore. He knew by then that it didn't do any good.

One of the children not holding him—Adorabeezle Winterpop—pushed a large white carrying case with a red cross emblazoned on the side into his dungeon cell. She opened the lid and spilled the contents onto the dirty floor. There were bandages and cotton swabs and tubes of antiseptic and other harmless things, but there were also…

Syringes. Dozens of them. They weren't overly large, but there was no doubt in Turbo's mind that they were sharp. Adorabeezle gathered them up in her arms and doled them out to her fellow racers. They discovered that they couldn't hold Turbo and the syringes at the same time, so they hauled him to the wall and shackled him at the wrists and ankles.

At first they were just poking and stabbing him with them, which was hellish enough, but then one of them apparently got the idea that it would be fun to pretend Turbo was a dartboard. They stood about five feet away and chucked the syringes at him. The flimsy metal of the needle would bend into an upside-down U shape wherever it stuck. The sight alone made Turbo's stomach churn, and the pain made it even worse. He could feel a dryheave coming on. His throat gave a spasm, but nothing came of it. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had anything to eat, so puking wasn't a problem.

At least there was that.

The children gave a pause in their chanting of zeroes and ones to burst into laughter when Jubileena Bing-Bing hit the bullseye, which wasn't a bull's eye at all, but Turbo's left one. Pain radiated all down the side of his face, his eye filling with red.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

Not a damn thing.

Katie snapped the box shut. "I can give you a few minutes," she offered. "They told me to hurry, but they can get over it. We'll wait a little bit."

But Turbo gave no indication that he'd even heard her talking to him. She waved her hand in front of his face. "Uh, Turbo? You alright?" She whistled a two-note ditty. "Hello-o?"

When he still didn't give a response, staring blankly at a spot on the floor, Katie turned to Barnes. "What should I do?"

"Hmm," Barnes hummed. "Now that I think about it, Sarge mentioned something about having to move Turbo from the _Sugar Rush _dungeon to our holding cells here because he was being mistreated. You don't think…?"

"You think they might've been _hurting _him over there?" Katie wondered. "That would explain why he's tuning us out. He can't help it." Katie adjusted her voice to a low register. "He might have what Sarge has, y'know."

Barnes nodded. No further explanation on the matter was needed. Everyone in _Hero's Duty _knew Sergeant Calhoun's tragic backstory. Mention anything about her late fiancé, or anything that even remotely _reminded _her of him, and…

Katie raised her hand to Turbo, to do what, she didn't really know—pat him on the shoulder, maybe brush the strand of hair that had fallen into his eye back up to the top of his head. But he suddenly looked at her. She let her hand fall back down to her side. Turbo held her gaze for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut.

He thrust his right arm out to her, eyes still closed. "Hurry up."

She looked at him with uncertainty, though, of course, he didn't see that. "Are you sure you—"

"_Yes, _just get it over with," he snapped.

Katie looked over her shoulder at Officer Barnes. He shrugged. She returned the gesture.

"Okay, if you're really ready." She tried rolling up his sleeve, but the material was too form-fitting to roll. She attempted pushing it up. Same thing.

"You'll have to take your arm out of your coveralls," she admitted to him.

He unzipped his racing suit about half of the way down his front and stuck his naked arm out of the hole. Katie went to work immediately, not wanting to put Turbo in any more discomfort than she had to—especially since he was being so compliant. From her pocket she produced a flat, thin line of rubber, which she tied in a knot around the top of Turbo's arm.

"Make a fist," she instructed him. He did.

She uncapped the needle. With her forefinger, she felt for the big vein in the crook of Turbo's arm.

"Three, two, one…big stick."

She found the vein on her first try, which was gloriously good luck, considering she'd only done this two times prior. As she guided the blood into the chamber, she glanced up at Turbo's face. His whole face was screwed up in pain. She wished she could go faster, but there was no rushing the process.

She replaced the needle tip with a puff of gauze and a pink kitty-cat bandage. "All done," she announced, capping the warm syringe and placing it gingerly into the box.

Turbo cracked his eyes open. He stared at his fine new bandage before slipping his arm back into his clothes and zipping himself up.

"Racing suit," he mumbled.

"Huh?" Katie replied, brow arched.

"You called it 'coveralls.' It's a racing suit."

Katie giggled. "Whatever you say. I'll remember that for next time."

"Yeah, well. Hopefully there won't _be _a 'next time.'" He collapsed onto the mattress and curled into himself, facing the wall, away from his unwelcome guests.

"Hopefully," Katie said. She grabbed his blanket from the floor and threw it over him.

"That went better than expected," Barnes whispered to Katie as he shut and locked the cell door.

Katie nodded. "But I still feel bad."

"In a way…I do too, kinda."

Katie thanked Officer Barnes for his help with the whole ordeal and trotted off for the tech room, the sharps container clutched tightly in both hands. She didn't dare drop it. She figured Turbo wouldn't be so cooperative about giving up his blood again.

She smiled to herself. "Racing suit," she muttered under her breath. "Those are definitely coveralls." She narrowed her eyes. "Wait, is there even a difference? I'm going to have to look that up."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I did some research on PTSD before writing this chapter because I didn't want to sound dumb. So Turbo's reactions were based on some factual information I read. There are many different ways one can react to stressors affiliated with past trauma. Shutting down, spacing out...and just wanting the situation to end (among other things, of course). That's why I made Turbo so compliant in this chapter - he just wanted to get things over with. I know it seems like I did a 180 on how I've been writing him, but fear not. He'll be back to his snarky self soon.

(And just in case! I had been borrowing lil sis's laptop, but she needed it back because her hard drive on her NEW laptop crashed. So, I ordered some parts online and patched up my old laptop that had been sitting in a drawer for a year. Seems fine for now, but if this story goes for a looooooong time without updating...my computer died on me. Probably won't come to that, but you never know.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Warnings: **C̶h̶a̶r̶a̶c̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶d̶e̶v̶e̶l̶o̶p̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶T̶u̶r̶b̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ None

* * *

As soon as Vanellope entered through the main doorway of her castle, Sour Bill dropped the broom he'd been absently sweeping with and shuffled up to the girl.

Catching his wide-eyed look of worry as the green candy shuffled closer, Vanellope took a bracing breath. She held her hands out in front of her. "Look," she started, "I know what you're gonna say, and—"

"Miss President, where have you _been_?" Bill said. "We've been—hold that thought." He crossed the room, stopping at a low table. The table didn't have much function other than to hold a potted lollipop plant atop a spun-sugar doily, but that was where Sour Bill had laid the walkie-talkie. He'd been far too nervous to carry it around with him, choosing instead to do some scarcely-needed sweeping. He picked up the device and held down the call button.

"Wynchel, Duncan? Are you there?"

"Yup." Duncan's voice. "Anything new?"

"President Vanellope just came through the front. Call off the search."

"That's kind of a good thing, 'cause we were runnin out of places to loo—"

Duncan's voice faded away as Sour Bill turned the volume on the device down, then completely off. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to be so forward, miss, but you've had all of us worried sick. What with Wreck-it Ralph barging through here earlier…we didn't know what had happened." He moved his jellybean hands up and down once, which Vanellope took to be a shrug. "Honestly, none of us thought you were still in _Sugar Rush_, but we've looked everywhere nonetheless."

"Well, Ralph _did _kinda kidnap me, I guess," Vanellope said. "But he had good reason to."

Sour Bill gave her a look of horror.

"Sounds terrible, I know," she said. "But he really did."

"I think you'll have to explain that to me," Sour Bill said, "but I suppose it can wait. You've only got a little more than an hour before the arcade opens. You ought to rest up while you can."

Vanellope nodded, tugging her ponytail taut. "Yeah. Think you're right. But I promise we'll have a meeting after the arcade closes, and I'll explain everything. Guess we'll have to push back the Random Roster Race a couple hours."

Sour Bill walked with her, nodding at her words, refraining from voicing any input.

"I hate to do that, but this is kinda more important."

The rest of the walk to Vanellope's bedroom was silent. Just outside the door, Sour Bill asked, "Is there anything I can get you, Miss President?"

She rubbed his shiny, bald head in appreciation. "Nah. I'm fine."

But 'fine' wasn't exactly the best way to describe her, at the moment.

**{*}**

The meeting room in President Vanellope's castle was about halfway full. Every Sugar Rush racer was in attendance, as well as Wynchel and Duncan standing vigil at the entrance and Sour Bill at Vanellope's side.

Vanellope whistled through her fingers to call the meeting to order. She took a shaky breath and began.

"Okay, guys," she said. "We've got some important stuff to talk about today. You guys know about Ralph and Felix busting through here the other day, right?" There were several mutters of affirmation, though by the looks of things, it was news to a few characters. "We'll talk about that first, I guess, to kinda get that out of the way. But there's…I hate to say it, but there's something more serious than that going on."

So she told the story as best she could—she not being in her right mind at the time of the events, she had to rely on Ralph and Felix's version of the ordeal.

"That's not even the thing, though," she said, after a few people voiced outraged at Ralph and Felix barging in and doing something so brash, sending the whole game into a frenzy. "They did it for my own good. Trust me, I'd be just as angry as most of you guys are right now if they didn't have a good reason for it."

Then came the part she was dreading—telling her friends-slash-subjects about the Cy-virus.

The news was not taken well.

"Are you _serious_?" Taffyta wailed.

Vanellope nodded. "Yeah."

As Taffyta's eyes welled with tears, Candlehead piped up. "How do we know if we're infected?"

Vanellope sighed. "That's the thing. You don't know if you're sick until someone sees you snap. I hate to worry you guys any more than I already have, but…apparently I've been sick for a long time. And I had no idea."

Taffyta grabbed two fistfuls of tissues from the box on the table and blotted her tear-streaked face, staining the white cloth with gunmetal gray and apricot. "So _we _could be sick?"

Though she doubted it would do anything to help, Vanellope closed her eyes for a brief moment in an attempt to calm herself. It didn't help much. She opened her eyes again, eyes focused on a knot in the wooden table. "It's possible."

The entire room burst into an uproar. Taffyta wasn't the only one crying anymore—at least three others joined in with bawling of their own. Gloyd Orangeboar removed his pumpkin-shaped cap and raked his fingers through his hair, mouth contorted in a grimace. Rancis Fluggerbutter appeared to be hyperventilating. The candle in Candlehead's hat burned a confusing blue color. In the back of the room, Wynchel and Duncan exchanged knowing looks.

She didn't blame them for reacting the way they did, but Vanellope had had enough of this craziness. She needed to bring the room back to order. She balled her hands into fist and rapped on the desk—_bang bang bang._

The room quietened down to a few scattered mutterings. All eyes were on her again. Scared, damp eyes that looked to her for answers she didn't have. She swallowed.

"I understand how you feel," she said, using all her willpower to keep her voice from cracking. "Trust me, I do. I went through exactly what you were going through right before the arcade opened. But just know that Sergeant Calhoun has promised me that they're working on an antivirus."

"Sorry, but that's not really all that reassuring," Taffyta said. "We could be walking around _killing_ people and we wouldn't even know it, do you realize that?"

"Yes, Taffyta, I realize that," Vanellope deadpanned. "But for right now, that's all we got."

Taffyta slumped into her chair, dissatisfied. After a few beats of silence, Swizzle Malarkey raised his hand.

"So…is there anything we can do about this? To help, I mean?"

Vanellope looked to Sour Bill for an answer. He mumbled something in her ear. She nodded.

"For now, I think it's best if we don't leave the game," Vanellope said, repeating Bill's suggestion. "That way, if any of us…get out of control, whoever we…y'know…get out of control _on_…can respawn. If we lost it on somebody outside _Sugar Rush_…" She shook her head. "I don't think I have to tell you that they _don't _come back."

"What about r-racing?" Adorabeezle Winterpop said, half-shouting from the end of the table. "If we go crazy while the a-arcade is open, we could…y'know."

She didn't have to finish her sentence. Everybody in the room knew that if something happened while the arcade was open, their game would be unplugged. Not only would they be homeless, but they'd be exposing anyone who entered Game Central Station to the tendencies of the Cy-virus.

"There isn't anything we _can _do," Vanellope admitted with a shrug. "We just have to keep doing what we're doing."

"Did they happen to say anything about when this antivirus would be ready, or…?" Snowanna Rainbeau, sitting directly at Vanellope's right, said.

"They're thinking they can have it ready in two days."

Finally, a tiny shred of good news that she could tell them. More murmuring sounded throughout the place, but it was far less upsetting than the time before.

"I know this isn't the best situation," Vanellope said, "but the people at _Hero's Duty _were really confident that they could find a cure, so…let's just try and keep our heads up, okay?" She sighed. "Meeting adjourned, I guess."

One by one, the racers trickled out of the room. Wynchel and Duncan were the last to leave, following behind Vanellope and Sour Bill.

"That could've gone better," Vanellope mumbled as she and Bill walked through the castle hallway.

"I think it went as well as it could've," the green candy responded. "You had to tell them. At least that's one less thing for you to worry about."

"Yeah," Vanellope said, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. "I guess." But she didn't feel any less worried.

**{*}**

"You know," Officer Barnes said. "I think I'm a little bit proud of you."

Turbo looked up from his novel. He'd finished the first one Barnes had given him, and now he was reading another one by a different author. It was a cheesy romance novels, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

"Why?"

"I can't believe how good you did earlier," Barnes said. "I really thought you'd go bonkers. Try to run away, or something. But ya did good." Barnes gave a nod in confirmation.

Turbo took the corner of the page he was on and rolled the gritty paper between his thumb and forefinger. "Well. Don't think it didn't cross my mind."

"Figured it did," Barnes said with a kind smile. "Didja get too freaked out? With the needle, and all? You afraid of em?"

Suddenly the corner of the page Turbo was fiddling with became extremely interesting. He averted his gaze and shifted his attention to the task at hand.

Though he'd like to say nothing in response to that, Turbo knew he needed to say something, or else the bombardment of questions would never end. Like many things in his life, he just needed to get it over with. "I guess," was what he managed to say.

"Don't feel bad about it," Barnes said to him, "lots of people're that way. Needles never did bother _me_, personally, but lemme tell you what—"

Right about then was when Turbo tuned him out. He'd become quite good at that—ignoring people.

But his inner thoughts were a different story. They kept coming whether he liked it or not, and though he tried to think of something else, his thoughts always floated back to something unpleasant.

It wasn't so much the _needle_. Yeah, it hurt, and yeah, it was sharp and pointy and gross, but as far as pain went, ha ha, he'd felt worse. Nah, it wasn't the needle that had set him off. It was the onslaught of all those horrible memories that hurt. A part of him, some niggling little shred of his being, kept telling him that karma was a bitch and he'd gotten what was bound to've come to him. All of his bad deeds had finally caught up.

He had died, and died, and died again, only to respawn in the same place he'd just been. But what about all those people in _TurboTime_? And _Road Blasters_? Did they get to respawn? Or did they just get to die once, and only once?

Had he died enough deaths to account for all the people he'd killed?

"Ah, but anyway, I'll quit my jabbering," Barnes said. "I'll hush and let you read. That one's a goodun. It's got a real 'what a twist' ending. You'll see."

It was just as well that he stop talking, because Turbo hadn't been listening, anyway. Maybe Pops had a point. Maybe he should read his book, try to get his mind off things.

But he kept reading the same paragraph over and over again because he couldn't concentrate on the words. He slapped the book shut. Actually, he kind of felt like throwing it across his cell, but he thought better of it. Instead, he tucked it into its home, underneath his pillow, and put his head on top of it.

Sleep seemed to be his only escape. But one could only do that so much. A lot of his time was spent daydreaming, which was often about terrible things. To be honest…he was kind of looking forward to the so-called "community service" he was doing. It got him out of his cell, and anything that got his mind off things was refreshing, no matter what it was. Maybe one of those girls would come around today and make him do something.

And on that note, they kept saying it was that Sergeant lady's job to do that, but she'd yet to come to the holding cells. They said she was "busy," but Turbo seriously doubted that. He wondered if something was going on.

Now that someone other than himself knew about the goings-on in _Sugar Rush_, he was wondering if any of those goody-goodies were trying to do anything about it. He couldn't imagine them _not _poking their noses in places they didn't belong. And weren't Wreck-it and the Glitch friends? That probably meant Fix-it was friends with her, too, so he imagined they were going to try and help her. Heh. They were in for a _rude _awakening.

Before he knew it, Turbo fell into a light sleep wrought with unpleasant half-dreams. He was awoken by a voice shouting at him.

"Up and at em! Time to go to work!"

It was Katie's voice, and even though she'd just sent him reeling back into a bad place earlier that day, he was pretty glad to hear it. It meant he was getting out of his cell for a little while. Which was a lot better than napping.

He rolled his head over and looked out his cell. Accompanying Katie was Adams, who'd apparently swapped her coke bottle glasses for a much more face-flattering pair of cateye frames. With her being there, too, that probably meant more car-washing for him. But, hey. He'd take it.

He hopped out of his bunk and plunked his helmet on his head. Barnes rounded his desk with the cell keys, unlocking the door and cuffing his prisoner. He handed the key to Katie, and the three of them headed out into the hall.

"So what're we doing today?" he asked them. He tried to put more life into his voice than what he was really feeling. He used to have to do that a lot when he was still King Candy. Old habit, he guessed.

"Nothing!" Katie said brightly.

"Katie said you had a rough morning," Adams elaborated. "We thought we'd let you, uh…take it easy. Just this once."

"We're going to Adams's garage office to hang out," Katie said. "It _sounds _super boring, but I promise it's not."

"I've got movies," Adams said. "And snacks, I think."

Katie leaned down to mutter in Turbo's ear. "She'll make us play one of her lame board games before it's all over," she giggled.

"I'm not deaf," Adams fired back. "My board games are _not _lame. They're edu-tainment."

Katie stuck her tongue out and mimicked a puking sound. Adams pursed her lips.

"That's okay," Adams said with faux cheer. "I bet Turbo, here, likes learning. He seems like a pretty smart guy."

_See, this is what I'm talking about, _Turbo thought. _Getting my mind off things. Look at me go._

In a rare moment of generosity, Turbo said with a shrug, "I'll do whatever." Which, he wasn't lying. Anything was better than staring at the ceiling of his cell, brain fraught with nightmarish flashbacks. Even an edu-taining board game…whatever in fresh hell that was.

**{*}**

The movie Adams put in for them to watch was called, _Kevin and Jimbo Take Over the City. _It was meant to be a comedy in the first place—that's what Turbo was gathering, anyway—but it was so horrendous that it became funny in an unintentional way.

"Look," Adams said through a mouthful of popcorn, pointing at the TV screen. "You can see Jimbo's eyes moving back and forth because he's literally reading off a cue-card. He didn't even memorize his lines."

Turbo reached into her bag of popcorn and helped himself to a handful. "I thought that was Kevin?"

Katie laughed. "Does it matter?"

In the movie, Kevin and Jimbo had decided to rob a bank. They had stocking caps pulled down over their faces with no eye-holes cut in them, or any other means to see where they were going or what they were doing. It was a frightening attempt at slapstick humor.

"This is making me feel secondhand embarrassment," Turbo said, but he was kind of grinning, anyway.

"Oh, no," Katie said, shaking her head. "We haven't even gotten to the best part. Kevin and Jimbo haven't gone to the aquarium yet."

The microwaveable snacks Adams had prepared had cold spots (except the popcorn, which was half-burnt), and the soda had lost the majority of its fizz—but for once in his life, Turbo wasn't complaining about it. It was better than washing vehicles, and it was _tons _better than being in his cell, alone and—he'd go ahead and admit it to himself—afraid. So he decided to keep his yap shut and his negative thoughts to himself.

Suddenly, Turbo had a thought. He waited until the end of the movie to say anything.

"Hey, you," he said, jabbing Adams with his elbow as the credits rolled.

"Hey, what?"

"I got a question."

"Okay."

"There's somethin I've been wondering," Turbo said. "What's your first name?"

Katie gasped. "Aw, you haven't told him yet?" She poked either of her cheeks with her index fingers. "Please tell him. I wanna see the look on his face."

"Nope," Adams said, crossing her arms. "Katie, don't you _dare _say anything."

"I won't," Katie frowned. "But you seriously need to. It's so cute. I don't know why you don't go by your first name, anyway."

"Because it's the most awful name I've ever heard," Adams said, rolling her eyes. "Whoever my programmers were, they must've really hated me."

"I won't tell anybody," Turbo reasoned. "Who _would _I tell?" He let out a dry little laugh.

Adams looked at the expectant faces before her. She sighed.

"All right, all right," she said. "My name is…my first name is…it's Eucalyptus, okay? There, I said it."

"You-ka-what?" Turbo said, brow furrowed.

Adams sighed. "See, this is why I hate telling—"

"I'm not making fun of it," Turbo said, which was only a half-truth. "Uh…pronounce it again."

"Eu-ca-lyp-tus," she said more slowly. "From what I can remember—from my programmed memories, y'know?—my mom's favorite animal was the koala. And, uh…they eat a lot of eucalyptus leaves. So…" She trailed off.

"It's definitely different," Turbo mused. But that didn't seem to make her feel any better about it. "Hey, my name's Turbo. What the hell is that about, am I right? And if ya don't like it, you _could _just shorten it."

"Like I haven't thought of that," Adams said sourly. "What could I possibly shorten 'Eucalyptus' to? Don't even think about it. There's nothing you can shorten it to. Nothing."

But Turbo did think about it, and it took him about two seconds to come up with something. "How bout 'Callie'?"

Adams's eyes widened.

"Adams, that is _so _cute!" Katie squealed. "You so look like a Callie. And we could be Callie and Katie, the Wonder Friends." Katie jostled Adam's shoulder. "Do you like it? You gotta like it."

"Actually, uh," she said, her entire face growing red. She lowered her voice to a murmur. "It's not that bad."

"Lemme just say," Katie said, her voice raising to a too-loud-for-such-a-small-room level, "that Callie is way better-sounding than Adams. I mean, not to hurt your feelings, or anything, but—"

"See what you started?" Adams—Callie—said to Turbo. "She's never gonna shut up about it."

"Let's put in another movie," Turbo suggested. "Drown her out."

"Yeah, good idea."

They watched _Kevin and Jimbo Take Over Another City _next. It was terrible. Delightfully terrible.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Here is my theory about movies and TV within the video game universe. They wouldn't have any way to watch stuff from the "Player's World," but...okay, here's a good example. If you've ever played the video game _The Last of Us_, the little girl, Ellie, loves reading comic books. The character you play as occasionally finds comic books for her to read while you're looting places. But they're comics that don't exist irl. Geddit? They exist in their world, but not ours. Uh...I didn't do a good job of explaining that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warnings: **None

* * *

Denise, one of the three members of the _Hero's Duty _tech team, stood up from her chair and groaned. "I can't sit here anymore."

Her colleague, Ben, tore his eyes away from his computer screen and swiveled his chair to face her. "But you have to. _We _have to."

Before Denise could reply to that, Gladys, the eldest of the three, put her two cents in. "I told that child we'd have an antidote ready for testing in two days. The first day's nearly up, and what do we have to show for it?"

Denise glanced at her own computer screen, which showed nothing but a microscopic Cybug having a sizeable snack. She'd been hoping that staring at the problem would give her some kind of epiphany. It did not. "Not much, huh?"

"We've only got one thing going for us," Ben said, "and that's that little bit of data I was able to get from Turbo's code."

Using information from Gene and Vanellope's binary, Ben was able to construct a program that more thoroughly scanned one's code for traces of the Cy-virus. He'd checked manually, anyhow, learning from his past mistake, but the results were one in the same—Turbo was completely virus-free. Though interesting, it didn't give the tech team many more solid facts to analyze. Any hypothesis they came up with could be rebuffed by the _other _plausible idea that Turbo could be immune.

Denise rubbed her eyes. She could really go for a nap right about then. But even if her coworkers would let her slip away and back to her bunker, she knew she'd never do it. She'd feel too guilty leaving them to do this important work without her.

Instead of sitting back down at her desk, Denise paced about the room, thinking. "So are you two still thinking Turbo could be immune to a Cybug attacking his binary? I'm thinking that idea's still worth pursuing."

Gladys leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together and sitting her hands in her lap. "Okay, then, riddle me this—_why _would he be immune?"

"I don't know," Denise admitted. "It's just…it seems like he's been exposed to the virus the longest, but he's not infected. How else could he go that long without contracting it?"

"His binary makeup isn't that different from Gene's," Ben said. "Both of their arcade cabinets were made in the same era, hence the similarities. So it can't be that it's just too basic of a code."

They were getting next to nowhere. Denise flopped back down in her chair. "But think about it another way. Why is no one in _this _game infected?"

"That we know of," Ben added.

"Right, that we know of," Denise agreed.

Gladys got a faraway look in her eye. "Could it have something to do with the beacon here?"

"Nah, that wouldn't make any sense," Ben said. "The beacon is visual. They couldn't see it if they were within a character's body."

Denise pursed her lips. "It would make _more _sense," she said, "if _we _were the ones immune. You know, since we're programmed to be in this game, and all."

Ben stiffened, sitting completely upright in his chair. "That could be why Turbo's not infected!" he said. "Think about it—none of _us _are infected because we're supposed to be here. And Turbo's not infected because he doesn't belong _anywhere_!"

Eyes wide, Gladys grabbed up her notebook, flipped to a clean page, and began scrawling down notes.

"Guys, guys," Denise said. "I think I've got an idea. Turbo obviously knows a lot about code, right? Well…he might know more than we do. He'd definitely know about _Sugar Rush _code better than us."

Ben grinned. "I think I know where you're going with this. You wanna get him in here and have him brainstorm with us, huh?"

Denise gave a lazy shrug. "It's worth a shot, don't you think? He might be able to come up with something we can't. At this rate, we need all the help we can get."

Gladys was still writing, but she could somehow carry on a conversation without stopping. "And what makes you think he'd agree to help? After being locked in the _Sugar Rush _dungeon for so long, and after Wreck-it Ralph dethroned him, I don't think he'd be too eager to help us out, here."

"He'd have to have something to gain," Ben said. "But what could we give him? We can't let him _go_, so what else could we offer him?"

_Something to gain…what would Turbo bargain with us for?_

_Maybe…his life?_

It was like a lightbulb lit up in Denise's head.

"_We _know he's not infected," she said slyly, "but _he _doesn't know that. You get me?"

The other two techies returned her devilish smirk.

"Good idea," Gladys said.

**{*}**

Not even a full minute after the arcade closed, Calhoun was in the tech team's office, wanting to know if they'd made any headway. They filled her in on what little they found. Although she didn't voice her disappointment, it was obvious by the look on her face that she was none too pleased.

"But we've got another idea," Denise said. "We're thinking we want to see what Turbo has to say about all this."

Calhoun crossed her arms. "And what would he know that my team of experts wouldn't?"

Ben decided to field that one. "Well, for one thing, he knows _Sugar Rush _binary inside and out. And there's a good chance he knows all about code in general."

"It's not beneath us to admit there might be someone more seasoned at this who could help us out," Denise said. "And since time's running short, we thought we'd give it a try."

"Turbo will never agree to it," Calhoun said.

"We thought of that, too," Denise replied. "That's why we're not gonna tell him the truth."

Calhoun raised her eyebrows. "What did you have in mind?"

They told her about their plan to tell Turbo that the sample of his code came back positive for the Cy-virus, and their thought that Turbo would be keener on helping them if he was under the assumption that he was helping himself.

"He won't buy it," Calhoun said. "He's smarter than he looks. But you can try it. I'll have two of my soldiers bring him down here."

"Why two?" Ben blurted. "You think he'll get violent?"

Calhoun gave a solemn nod. "Once you tell him he's infected, he won't be happy. Better safe than sorry."

And with that gruesome mental image, Calhoun departed the office and went to fetch two of her soldiers.

**{*}**

"_Where _are we going, again?"

Turbo, Katie, and the newly-dubbed Callie walked down the main hallway, which was much more crowded now that the arcade was closed for the day. "Sarge said to take you to the tech office," Katie said.

"You know why?" Turbo asked her.

"Nope."

A bolt of fear surged through him. First they want a sample of his code. Now they want to talk to him about something. This whole thing was playing out to be like a Very Special Episode of one of those corny _TurboTime _sitcoms he used to watch after the racing day was through.

"I'm dreadin this," Turbo groaned.

"You think it's something bad?" Callie asked him.

"What else could it be?" Turbo said.

"Well, maybe…" Katie started, intending to give Turbo some words of encouragement, but she trailed off. She was at a loss for what to say next—mostly because Turbo was right.

It didn't take them long to reach the doorway. Callie typed in a password into the door's keypad and it slid open. She went inside first, Turbo following, with Katie bringing up the rear.

The air seemed thick in the room. It could be the number of characters cramming into the small space—six in total—but Turbo also thought it could be the sense of dread he was experiencing starting to overwhelm him. That's just what he needed—something else to worry about, to make him sick. He just wanted to get it over with.

The people dressed in white lab coats rather than the standard _Hero's Duty _armor wasted no time in getting straight to the point. Turbo didn't know them, not even their names, and he didn't care to know. They probably figured as much. One of them, an older lady with a long braid, ushered him into a computer chair. Cautiously, he sat. Katie and Callie stood on either side of him. (He did find a little bit of comfort in that, if he was being honest with himself.)

"There's not a doubt in my mind that you're itching to know why we've asked you to come here," the older woman said. "Forgive me, but I feel it's best to deliver this news without preamble. The sample of your code that you provided for us has tested positive for the Cy-virus."

He hadn't realized it, but he'd been holding his breath. He emptied his lungs in a shaky puff and sucked in another helping of air. He wouldn't even bother asking what the Cy-virus was. He wasn't a moron. He knew.

And on top of the horrible sinking feeling in his gut, he could feel all sets of eyes on him. It seemed like they were expecting him to burst into flames. If he could, he might've done. Fear quickly turned to anger. Had his wrists not been cuffed, he'd be tugging at his hair in frustration.

"And what—I mean, what're you gonna do about it?" he snapped. "Quarantine me, kill me? Just whaddya want me here for?"

Another lab-coated character, this one also female but much younger in appearance, said, "It's nothing like that, actually. Since we're not…preamble-ing, I won't bore you with unnecessary details. We want you to help us."

_We want you to help us._

_Help us._

"I get it," Turbo said. "I'm infected with that…that…I'm infected, and you want me to help you find out what's wrong with those snot-nosed brats in _Sugar Rush_. And if I don't, I don't get a cure for myself, and I"—he took a much-needed breath—"sit and _rot _in your prison, and slowly go crazy. Am I right?"

Denise blinked. "Ah, sort of, but—"

"You don't know the half of it, sister," he spat. "None of ya do. You don't know—I'd rather—I'd—I don't care if I _do _die. I'm not helping you. Get somebody else."

He started out strong, but the last bit of his outburst came out as more of a whine than a yell. But by the looks on the techies' faces, he'd gotten his point across pretty well.

The labcoated male was the first to recover. "If you helped us find the antivirus," he said, trying to keep his voice upbeat, "you'd be saving countless lives."

Katie snorted.

"Care to elaborate, Miss Teeter?" the elderly techie said coldly.

Katie—whose last name was apparently Teeter—cleared her throat. "Sorry," she began. "I know you guys are being serious and all, but this is Turbo, here. The game-jumping guy? It's a pretty safe bet he doesn't care about"—she did some air quotes—"'saving countless lives.'"

At that, the male techie's cheeks reddened. "He should," he grumbled.

"Correct," Turbo said with a shrug. "Can I go now? I'm sweatin."

"Not quite," Older Tech Lady said. "There are still matters to discuss."

To that, Turbo said nothing. It was no secret that he had a short fuse. Saying anything to that idiotic statement might set him off.

She moved right along, however, not giving more than half a beat of pause in her speech. "I'm not satisfied with your lack of compliance. I think it would be wise if you…" She narrowed her eyes. "…reconsidered."

Turbo scoffed. "Are you threatening me?" He tried to tell himself he wasn't fazed by her icy stare. Tried to tell himself to hold his head high. He didn't owe that old bag anything.

The older lady fished something out of her lab coat pocket—some sort of device that looked vaguely familiar. She pushed in a button on the side and held it close to her mouth.

"Sergeant Calhoun?"

A couple seconds later, a slightly irritated voice: "Yes, Gladys?"

"Requesting your presence in the technology office."

A long pause. "On my way."

As Gladys stuffed the electronic thing back into her pocket, Katie and Callie muttered to one another.

"She sounds kinda annoyed," Katie murmured.

"Wouldn't you be?" Callie replied. "Here lately, she's had literally zero spare time. Wish there was something we could do to help, y'know?"

"Besides babysitting this dude," Katie said, rapping her knuckles on the top of Turbo's helmet.

"What could we do, though? Nothing, I guess?"

"Not unless we can somehow, magically, find a cure for this virus…I don't think there's anything we can help her out with."

Then Katie leaned down to be face-to-face with Turbo. "Could you really help the tech guys find a cure?"

Turbo shrugged, avoiding her gaze.

"Then how come you don't try and help them out?"

Katie's eyes were big and blue and slathered in dramatic makeup. She was up so close that Turbo could make out her real eyelashes jutting out from under her false ones. He shook his head.

"It's complicated," he whispered back.

Katie opened her mouth to ask another question, but thought better of it as she heard the swishing noise of the office door opening. She straightened herself back up and resumed her post at Turbo's side.

"Let me guess," Calhoun said as she entered the room. "Someone"—she glanced over at Turbo—"won't cooperate."

"Indeed," Gladys said. "And I'm afraid I'm at a loss for what to do with him. He's not interested in saving his own life, nevertheless the lives of others."

"Figured as much," Calhoun said, but she wasn't looking at her tech team. She walked over to stand in front of Turbo, arms folded at her chest, an amused look on her face.

"So it's a no-go, huh?" Calhoun said. "No amount of begging I do would convince you to help out, huh?"

Turbo stared at the floor.

"Well, my tech team, here, seems to think you know a thing or two about code that they don't," she went on. "That you might be able to help them better understand the Cy-virus, as we're calling it—maybe iron out a few kinks when they're making an antivirus."

And Turbo said nothing.

She nodded to herself, an idea coming to her. "Alright, everybody except Turbo step out into the hall for a sec. I want some privacy, here."

There were confused murmurs from the tech team, but Katie and Callie didn't seem that miffed at the request. They all left the room like they were told, an eerie quiet surrounding Calhoun and Turbo.

Calhoun stole one of the techies' office chairs and sat beside Turbo. "Look. I know you're not stupid, and neither am I. I know you don't wanna help those kids after what they did to you, and I don't blame you a bit for that. Would _I _want to? No."

She placed an elbow on the desk adjacent to her, supporting her head with her palm. "Also, I'll just come out and say they lied to you about being sick. You're fine. I tried to tell them it was a stupid idea, but look how well they listened."

Relief flooded through Turbo's lungs. He felt a little lightheaded. He'd been trying to tell himself that he was prepared for imminent insanity followed by a probable slow and painful death, but he wasn't exactly being truthful.

"Assholes," he muttered.

Calhoun nodded. (Did she agree with him?) "So here's what I'm thinking," Calhoun went on. "Normally I don't bargain with people, but I don't see any other option. I don't have anything to take away from you, so I'll _give _you something. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."

Turbo rubbed at his eyes with his fists. He was mentally drained, physically exhausted. "I guess I'll listen, but…" Granted, he could be a dick sometimes—okay, a lot of the time—but this lady was going out of her way to treat him civilly. He'd try to return the favor.

"Lemme ask you," she said. "What's one thing you miss the most about living back in _Sugar Rush_? Or even your old cabinet, whatever the name of that was?"

"Racing," he said immediately. He didn't have to pause to consider his answer. It was always waiting on the tip of his tongue.

"I thought that might be the case," she nodded. "What if…" She paused for a moment of thought. "What if I let you race?"

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested. He spent a lot of his time thinking about racing, and lamenting the fact that he'd never get to do it again. His only ray of hope was escaping this place, but they had him under lock and key or close surveillance at all hours of the day. His hope at getting out of this game was dwindling. If he ever wanted to get behind the wheel again…

"How would you even do that?" he asked her. He couldn't help himself. He had to know.

"Well," Calhoun said, "you've been doing a lot of scrubbing on our rovers, here lately. Think you could drive one of those?"

"I can drive anything," he said, his confidence returning. "But I don't figure you got a race track anywhere handy."

"Where do you think we drive those rovers?" she asked, smiling. "How do you think they get so dirty? We don't have a race track, per se, but we've got _lots _of room to drive. Make your own race track."

In a way, he hated himself for actually thinking about taking her up on the offer—as if agreeing to help these people find an antivirus would both suck his soul dry and admit defeat at ever escaping this place. But when in Rome…

"It's not really a race without somebody to race against," he said suggestively.

"Way ahead of you," she said. "Katie and—what'd you nickname her, Callie?—will be more than happy to race against you, I'm sure. Probably won't be very _good _at it, but I bet I can talk them into it."

"How fast do these, uh, rovers go, exactly?"

"A lot faster than your little go-karts, I promise," Calhoun assured him. "You can probably get them up to two hundred."

_Miles per hour?!_

Turbo had to try very hard to conceal his excitement. "And how often would I get to race?"

"Every day that you behave yourself, I guess. Just as long as you do your community service first."

He used to do that—racing every day. It was a constant in his life. Cliché though it may sound, he felt lost without it. He'd still be a prison inmate, but…

Oh, what the hell.

Turbo nodded. "I'll do it. There's no guarantee I can really help, but I'll try."

She smiled. "That's all I'm asking."

Calhoun stuck her hand out for Turbo to shake. His hand twitched in response, but he hesitated.

"If you're lying to me…" He looked at her with what he hoped were menacing eyes.

"I don't have time for lies," she said simply. "You can tell by the stunt my tech team just pulled where lies get you."

He sucked in a breath and grabbed her hand. Her grip was strong and painful. Reassuring, in a way.

She looked into his eyes. "You've got a deal, Speedy. You start now."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Really heavy on the dialogue again, I know. But this thing's character-driven, so it's hard not to do that. Also, I worked some plot development in there! (Which is always good.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Warnings: **Moderate gore

* * *

Felix tried to tell himself not to worry. Worrying never did anybody any good, he repeated over and over again in his mind. But somehow, he felt responsible for Gene becoming…sick. Gene didn't get out of the game cabinet much—if ever—and chances were high that Felix had brought the virus in. Why he, himself wasn't sick, he had no idea.

Maybe he _was _sick. The thought made him purse his lips in worry.

In any case, Gene had been making himself scarce here lately, doing his daily job at the arcade and then scurrying back to his apartment before Felix could get a word in edgewise. Felix decided he'd pay him a visit. He'd feel even worse if he didn't.

Felix knocked thrice at the door.

He could hear some movement from inside, nearing the door. When the movement stopped, Felix was assuming Gene was looking through the peep-hole.

"I'm sorry, Felix," Gene yelled from the other side, "but I don't want you around me. Better not risk you getting sick."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Felix said, but he knew the tone of his voice was probably deceiving him. "Can I not come in?"

Gene didn't respond for a moment. "If you get sick, we'd all be in trouble. I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to ask you to leave."

Though Felix hated to admit it, Gene was right. Gene was an NPC, and if something came over him while he was on the job, there was a good chance it would be overlooked by the player, or go completely unnoticed. Felix, on the other hand…if something went wrong with the player's character, they were likely to get the "out of order" flyer stuck to their screen again.

"I sure do feel bad about this," Felix said. Which, he really did. He felt responsible for everything that went on in this game, whether he could control it or not.

"Is there anything I could get for you, neighbor?" Felix asked him. Felix was hoping he'd say yes. Not exactly for Gene's sake, if he was being honest—it'd help him feel better if he could do _some_thing for Gene.

"I'm fine," Gene said, but it was clear by the tone of his voice that he was anything but. "You go on and rest up for tomorrow."

"Okay," Felix sighed. "But if you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Sure."

Felix lingered at the door. "G'night, Gene," was all he could think of to say.

"You have a good evening," Gene said in a faraway voice. It sounded…defeated. Resigned.

If Felix wasn't already feeling guilty about this whole ordeal, he was now. There was no telling how horrible Gene was feeling—being the carrier of some kind of horrible disease must feel beyond awful, not to mention terrifying. Felix thought about all of this as he walked.

He only half-knew where his feet were taking him, but he soon found his way to the exit tram. He decided he'd make his way over to _Hero's Duty _and check on Calhoun's tech team, see if they'd made any progress. Truth be told, he just needed to feel like he was doing something proactive. Hopefully he wouldn't be imposing, popping in like he was, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stand himself if he didn't go and check in.

Walking through the main _Hero's Duty _corridor still felt weird, though he'd done it dozens of times. He felt like he should announce himself, or check in somewhere, or something. Whenever visitors came through _Fix-it Felix, Jr._, there was always a prying Nicelander eye that spotted them, and Felix would always run out of his penthouse to greet whoever it may be. But _Hero's Duty _was different. A couple people tipped their heads in his direction as he passed them in the hall, but other than that, he went unnoticed.

First he tried Calhoun's room, but she wasn't in there. Probably in the tech room, he told himself. He'd walked right past the tech room without looking for her in there because, in a way, he was hoping she'd be in her room. There was a really good chance that she'd have bad news for him, as far as this strange sickness went, and now that he was here, he wasn't sure if he was ready to hear it.

But he tried to put on a happy face.

He found his way back to the tech room door. Should he just knock? He felt strange for doing so, but he did, anyway. A small squeak escaped his lips as the door slid open without warning.

"Felix," Calhoun said, surprised. A tiny smile snuck its way onto her face. "Funny. I was just on my way to see you."

That sounded promising, Felix thought. "You were?" He knew he was smiling too much for the grim situation at hand, but he couldn't much help himself when he was around his gal.

"I know I said I'd let you know something as soon as we figured out anything new," Calhoun said, leaning in the doorway. "Hate to say I don't have much to report, but I figured you'd wanna hear about it, anyway."

"I—" Felix began, but his voice died in his throat. His eyes happened to wander past Calhoun and into the room, where they fell upon a certain felonious racer, back hunched, brow creased, scribbling on a sheet of paper.

"Forgive me for being forward, but I believe I'm seeing at least one thing you've got to report," Felix mumbled, hopefully out of earshot from the people inside.

Calhoun eased her stance out of the doorway, standing up straight. "I know," she said with a nod. "How bout we head down to my barracks and chit-chat over a cup of coffee?"

Felix's cheeks grew warm. He'd been to Calhoun's barracks before, of course, to watch TV and play cards and the like, but the thought of it still gave him the honey glows. The feeling died quickly when he remembered the subject matter of their talk, though.

"Sounds dandy," he said.

**{*}**

The coffee was strong even for Felix's standards, but while Felix drank dainty sips of the stuff, Calhoun tipped her mug back and took three big swallows before she even checked up. She sat her mug on the side table with a solid thud, wiped her mouth with the back of an armored hand, and began to talk.

"So, I'm sure you noticed our new friend back there," Calhoun said.

"I thought he—why is he—that was Turbo, right?" Felix finished dumbly.

"Yeah," Calhoun said, drawing out the word. "There's a story behind that, I'll tell it to ya."

She briefed him on her tech team coming up with little new research on the Cy-virus, and how they'd come up with the idea to utilize Turbo's extensive knowledge of code to aid them in discovering anything new. But they knew he'd never do it out of the goodness of his heart. Calhoun then went over how they'd lied to Turbo, telling him he was sick with the virus, in the hopes that he'd be more interested in finding a cure if he, himself was infected. But he held such malice against the _Sugar Rush _racers who'd tortured him for so long that he'd rather die than help them. Calhoun was then forced to admit the truth, that he wasn't sick at all, and bargained with him using racing privileges with _Hero's Duty _rover vehicles.

When she was done telling the long-winded tale, she drank the other half of her coffee and sighed. "Crazy, huh?"

"You really think Turbo knows something your people don't?" Felix said with obvious disbelief. "Are you sure he's not…pulling your leg?"

Calhoun gave him a wan smile. "Actually, you know what? I've only been watching him work for an hour, and…" She sighed. "I almost hate to admit it, but he's got some pretty good ideas."

"Well, I suppose that's good news, then," Felix said. "It just means you're one step closer to figuring out a solution for all this."

Calhoun raked her fingers through her shock of blonde hair. "I just hope we can get this situated soon, before it spreads."

Felix frowned. "Me, too."

"How's Gene doing?"

"As well as I could hope for, I guess," Felix sighed. "He's keeping himself locked up in his apartment any time we're not doing arcade doings. Sometimes you can hear him thrashing around in there, saying all that…number gibberish. But he hasn't hurt anyone else since…that first time."

Calhoun nodded. "At least there's that. Maybe we can figure this thing out before the Cy-virus spreads any further. Kinda hate to admit it, but Turbo's smart. Maybe he really can help us out. And letting him destroy the outskirts of my game and turn it into a racetrack is a small price to pay if he does."

Felix nodded. He took another tiny sip of coffee.

**{*}**

Ever since the news that there was a virus running rampant around the game, there was a tangible thickness in the air, Vanellope could feel it. Vanellope took a deep breath as she adjusted the goggles on her face, the announcement of the first quarter alert of the day still ringing in her ears. She hadn't been chosen as the Player's avatar—Taffyta had—but she was still in the roster.

The crowd of candy fans were cheering, but it was markedly less so than usual. It sounded more haunting than anything. Vanellope just hoped the people _outside _the game cabinet didn't notice anything. At that thought, she took a cursory glance out the glass, avoiding eye contact with the Player. A teenaged girl with her hair in a Taffyta-esque bob was behind the wheel, face knitted in concentration. Vanellope hadn't seen her here before, but she didn't always look. Maybe the girl wouldn't notice anything amiss.

Maybe everything would go smoothly today.

She snapped to attention when the first bulb of the stoplight illuminated, revving her engine. The second bulb lit up, and she had to remind herself that the Player had chosen the Easy difficulty level—otherwise, she would've started to ease the gas pedal to the floorboard, readying her kart for a starting line boost.

Finally, the final green bulb flashed to life, and they were off.

Vanellope giggled as the Player promptly sent Taffyta crashing into a side wall. She then overcorrected, veering off into the opposite wall. The Player couldn't see Taffyta's face, but Vanellope could, in her rearview mirrors. It was not a pretty sight.

Taffyta was now in dead last, and since there wasn't anything to be done about that, Vanellope decided to step up her racing a little bit. She'd fallen into fourth place while she was preoccupied with watching the disaster unfold behind her, but she snapped her attention back to the race at hand. She coaxed her kart to full speed, drifting skillfully around curves as opposed to taking them at a leisurely pace like she usually did when the Player selected Easy. If the Player couldn't even stick with the group, Vanellope thought with a shrug, she was in it to win it.

"Wrong way, dear! Wrong way!" she heard Pop Rockawitz, the NPC who manned the traffic light and lap flags, yell to the Player. Vanellope laughed into the wind. Now Taffyta was turned around backwards. They most likely wouldn't get another seventy-five cents from this girl to play again, but at least she was giving Taffyta a hard time.

As Vanellope rounded another curve, she nearly crashed into a wall herself. Karma?...No, not quite. She held the wheel with one hand and raised the other to her face for inspection. Sweaty palms.

_That's never happened to me be…fore…oh, no._

She wasn't dumb. She knew that if something unusual was happening to her, there was a good chance that she was about to go crazy with that virus. As soon as she'd had that thought, she felt her face grow ice-cold. Why was she suddenly having symptoms, then, if she'd never had them before? Apparently, she didn't even _know_ when she'd fallen under the throes of the sickness. It had just…happened. But she could certainly feel this.

Up ahead, she saw a dot of pink in her vision. She was getting closer to lapping Taffyta, thereby putting her in the Player's field of vision. She could only hope the Player didn't see her when she…did whatever she was about to do.

Her last thought before her vision went black was, "please don't let me get this game unplugged, please don't let me get this game unplugged, please don't…"

She felt her grip slacken on the wheel as she drifted into unconsciousness.

**{*}**

"Whoa," Megan muttered under her breath, raising her eyebrows. "I know I'm sucky at this game, but am I _that _sucky?"

She watched her little pink girl with the hair like hers get torn apart limb from limb by one of the other racers, another girl with a ponytail and a green jacket. _Is this what you get when you go the wrong way down the track too many times? A zombie girl comes and eats you?_

Pink Girl's left arm went flying into the crowd, an arc of blood following it like the tail on a shooting star. Candy people screamed and howled, scattering from the stands as fast as their little legs could carry them. Megan leaned over to look at the rating on the side of the game: E for Everyone.

_Surely not_, Megan thought. It didn't bother her, but she could just picture her eight-year-old little brother looking at the bloodbath Green Jacket Girl was bringing forth. This was some kind of sick game.

"Something wrong, sweetie?" the owner of the arcade, Mr. Litwak, said to her, seeming to materialize by her side. She yelped a little in surprise. He patted her good-naturedly on the shoulder in apology.

"Nah, not really," she told him. He was a nice dude, always refunding people's money if they looked unhappy. She didn't want him to think she wanted her money back, or anything, so she made something up off the top of her head. "Just lost my first race, that's all," she laughed. "I'll do better at the next one, heh." She turned her head to get her purse up off the floor, to root down into its contents for more change, when she heard Mr. Litwak gasp.

"Oh, my goodness," he said, slapping his whole arm over the murder scene that filthed up the game screen. "This is what I get for allowing automatic updates on these newer games, I guess. I…I'm so sorry, sweetie, I didn't know…here, let me give you your money back."

"Nah, it's fine," Megan said, flapping her hand in dismissal. Now that he'd seen what she had, though, she may as well say what was on her mind. "But maybe make the rating T for Teen, or something? It's a little graphic, don't you think?"

"Oh, don't worry, it'll be N for Nobody's Going to Play This Until I Fix It," Mr. Litwak said firmly. "I'll slap a sign on it and see what I can do. I really insist you take your three quarters back, though—"

But Megan was already getting up from the plastic racing seat, purse in hand. "It's fine—really, it's fine. I got my money's worth." She laughed at that, but Mr. Litwak's expression was clearly one of worry.

"Could I get you to do me a favor, sweetie?" he asked her. "Could you…stand in front of this game screen for a sec while I go and fetch the out-of-order sign? I don't want the littler ones walking by and seeing…_that_."

Not that Megan would say no, anyway, but how could she? Mr. Litwak was so nice. "Yeah, sure. I don't mind."

Mr. Litwak beamed at her. "Wonderful. I'll be back in a jiffy." He trotted off, disappearing through the EMPLOYEES ONLY door.

As Megan pressed her back against the game screen, to avoid young eyes falling upon it, she heard a low, rhythmic chant coming from the game cabinet.

"_Zero, one, zero, zero, zero, one, zero…_"

* * *

**Author's Note: **I think this update is a little late? I started a new job and it takes up a huge chunk of my time. (But more time=more $$$ so that's okay, I guess.)

Also, I did not make Pop Rockawitz up! He's not an OC of mine, but I kinda wish he was...he's super cute! I don't know WHY they decided to scrap him, but they shouldn't have, if you're asking me. Well...actually, I think he was replaced with Sour Bill, in the end, but I can't be sure. He never made it past the concept art stage so there's no way to tell - I'm just speculating. But yall need to look him up! His candy base is obviously Pop Rocks, so he has a big pinkish spiky head. And he floats on a lil cloud, so...I thought he could be the flag and stoplight guy in my fic. He looks like he'd have a very southern accent, like Gideon from Gravity Falls (and myself, hyuck hyuck), but idk.

Turbo got a big chunk of the last chapter, so he just got a cameo in this one. It can't be helped. And where's Ralph in all this, anyway? Don't worry...he's comin.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warnings: **None

* * *

This whole virus thing had Ralph's stomach in perpetual knots. He was worried about his own game, he supposed, but he was even more worried about _Sugar Rush_. Vanellope had been through enough in her life. Pretty much the last thing she needed was to be sick.

He'd been particularly worried that day. The night before, Felix had taken a trip to _Hero's Duty _to check the progress of things, and Felix had said that they were making slow progress. Felix had been upbeat about delivering the news, but Ralph could read between the lines just fine. He knew that meant they were no closer to finding a cure.

And they'd promised the kid two days. They'd _promised _her.

All of these thoughts clouded his mind as the arcade day came to a close and the Nicelanders hefted him up to chuck him off the building. Felix had his medal round his neck, as per the norm, but his smile looked much more forced as of late. He gave Ralph a curt nod as the Nicelanders heaved him up.

That's when he saw it.

At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but he knew they weren't. He knew he'd seen the foreboding orange of the "out-of-order" sign taped to the _Sugar Rush_ screen. As he fell, he cried out in anger, in fear.

The cool mud of the puddle slapped against his skin, and he brushed it away as quickly as it touched him. He was up and out of the mudhole in seconds, running.

"Ralph!" he heard Felix call from the top of the building. But he ignored him.

"_Ralph_!"

He kept on running, past the tram, directly into the tunnel. The tram was too slow. He needed to go faster than that.

He had to get to her.

**{*}**

Calhoun let herself into the tech room via the keypad outside, falling into a spare office chair at the row of computers where Denise, Ben, Gladys, and now Turbo were working. The three techies were tapping away at their keyboards, while Turbo was scribbling on a legal pad with a ballpoint pen. He didn't have time to learn how to use a computer, nor did he want to. He flicked his eyes up at Calhoun before returning to his work.

She let the sound of keys clicking fill her ears for a moment before she spoke. "We got a little bit of a situation," she mumbled, her voice filling the quiet room like an explosion.

"Lemme guess, the virus spread to another game," Turbo said without looking up.

"Not quite as bad as that," Calhoun admitted. "_Sugar Rush _has been given the out-of-order."

Denise stopped typing. "What happened?"

"Dunno," Calhoun said. "But from what I gathered from Surge Protector, there was a hubbub in there around noon. I'm sure one of the kiddos had an episode during arcade hours and somebody saw."

Turbo bit his lower lip to keep from smiling.

"So I suppose you've come to tell us to step it up?" Gladys said. "We're doing all we can."

Calhoun was never a fan of Gladys's attitude, but she was good at her job, and that was what mattered in the long scheme of things. "I know. Any updates?"

"I can tell you right now what would fix everything in _Sugar Rush_," Turbo said offhandedly.

Calhoun turned her chair toward Turbo, then swiveled Turbo's chair around to face her. "Are you being serious?" she said, the look on her face making it clear that she was not in the mood for jokes.

Turbo couldn't take her stare. He flicked his eyes to the wall behind her. "Well, I mean, I'm pretty sure all you'd have to do is go in and delete the little fuckers." He met her eyes. "Pardon my French."

She settled into her chair, eyeing him carefully, looking for any traces of deception on his face. She found none. "Please elaborate," she said coolly.

"Well, I mean," he shrugged. "How to put this…when I went into the code room and did some, uh, rearranging in there, it was pretty easy to delete anything that wasn't a playable character. Figure you'd just have to find the right line of binary and delete it."

The three techies exchanged amused looks, but Calhoun looked interested in the idea. "How would we find it?"

"It'd be like finding a very tiny needle in a gigantic haystack," Ben snickered.

Turbo looked past Calhoun and gave Ben a disgusted glare. "Hey, bub, how many games have you jumped here lately, just out of curiosity? How many code rooms have you broken into, huh?" Turbo waited for his answer, and when he got nothing but a flush-faced Ben, he was satisfied.

He turned his attention back to Calhoun. "_Sugar Rush _code is really unique." He splayed his hands out in front of him, as if touching the code. "Anything that didn't belong would be pretty easy to find, if my thinking's right."

Calhoun took in a breath. She needed time to think.

She reached out and tapped Turbo on the forehead with her index finger. "You hold that thought. I've got to straighten a few things out." She addressed the whole room next. "Keep on working, guys. You're doing great."

And with that, she left the tech room. She set off to round up Katie and Adams. Or Callie, rather. She needed to run some ideas by someone, and those two would fit the bill perfectly. She could just call them on their communicators, but neither of them could ever hear them beeping over the commotion they were always in—Callie in her garage, Katie slicing and dicing in her combat room. It'd be faster to fetch them on foot.

So she set off down the hallway to do just that.

**{*}**

Surge Protector could see Ralph coming from far off, but there was nothing he could do about it. If he tried anything, Ralph would just knock his lights out. He braced himself for the confrontation.

When Ralph was a stone's throw away, he started yelling. "You can't come in here!" he shouted, holding up his hand. "This game is off-limits!"

Without a word, Ralph ran right past him, ignoring the red lights and shrill alarm he set off when he went through the _Sugar Rush _entrance.

"It's dangerous in there!" Surge Protector shouted down the tunnel, but he was sure Ralph didn't much care.

Surge Protector sighed. No one ever took him seriously.

Ralph's lungs were burning from running so much, but he tried to tell himself that he felt nothing. If _Sugar Rush _had been put out of order, it meant something was very, very wrong. And he needed to find out what.

There were Oreo guards stationed over the entrance, but he sidestepped them with ease. They squawked and brandished their spears at him, but he didn't care. He needed to make it to the castle. He needed to check on Vanellope.

More Oreo guards were there to greet him at the castle entrance, and he got past them in the same way he'd gotten past the first group. He spotted the donut police, Wynchel and Duncan, just past the entrance, near the throne room. He was really hoping he wouldn't have to resort to violence to get past anyone, but he'd do what he had to do. To his surprise, though, Wynchel and Duncan looked eager to see him. They flapped their hands in the air and beckoned for him to come over.

"Ralph, c'mere!" Duncan shouted.

Ralph hoped this wasn't a trick—he really didn't want things to get ugly. He was just here to check on Vanellope, and he didn't want things to escalate. He slowed his pace and approached the two policemen.

"What happened?" he asked Duncan breathlessly. He rested his palms on his knees, bending over, sucking in air. He was more winded than he thought.

"It's President Vanellope," Wynchel said. "She, uh—"

"She what, she what?" Ralph said, wishing Wynchel would just spit it out.

"Well, she kind of…attacked Taffyta during arcade hours," Wynchel told Ralph. "Wadn't pretty. Litwak slapped the sign up before anybody except that one Player could see."

"Where is she now?"

"She finally snapped out of it and passed out," Wynchel said. "She's kinda fading in an out of consciousness. We're kinda debating on whether we oughta take her over to Dr. Mario or not, but since she's kinda…sick with that stuff, we didn't know if that'd be wise."

"So _where is she now_?"

"Well, in her bed resting, but—"

That was all Ralph needed to know. "Thanks," he muttered, heading down the corridor to Vanellope's room.

"She's still confused, though," Duncan shouted after Ralph. "She probably won't know who you are."

_She'll know who I am_, Ralph told himself. _She'll be fine. She has to be fine. _

He wasn't sure how much he believed that, though.

**{*}**

Katie collapsed into Calhoun's bed, while Callie decided she'd have a seat on the sofa. Calhoun sat in her easy chair, unaware until that point how exhausted she was. She ran a hand through her hair and allowed herself to close her eyes for a few brief seconds.

"We haven't hung out in a long time," Katie said, shoving one of Calhoun's pillows behind her head. "I wish it was under happier circumstances, though."

"You've been pretty busy, here lately," Callie noted.

"You can say that again," Calhoun groaned. "As soon as the arcade day's done, I'm busy trying to sort this…this mess out. Haven't had time for anything else. It's exhausting."

Callie frowned. "No doubt."

"And you've got Turbo helping out now, huh?" Callie said with a smirk. "How's that working out for ya?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you two about," Calhoun sighed. "I'm pretty good at reading people, but this is something I'd like a second—and third—opinion on."

"I'm just surprised you even trust Turbo," Callie said. "How did that happen?"

"I don't," Calhoun said. "But he…there's no use in trying to pretend he doesn't know _Sugar Rush_'s code inside and out. He revamped the place from the ground up. He knows a lot more than we do. I think he might actually know how to get rid of the Cy-virus."

"Really?" Katie said from the bed, hopeful.

"He seems to think if he could get a look at the _Sugar Rush _binary, he could actually find the malicious code and remove it."

Callie hummed a sound of uncertainty. "But that would mean letting him back in the code room to do what his crazy little heart desires. You think that's such a good idea?"

"That's the thing," Calhoun said. "That's about where my trust in him runs out. I don't think there's any way I could actually control him once I got him into the code room. He could do whatever he wanted."

"Okay, yes," Katie said, "that's definitely true. But _Sugar Rush _got the out-of-order slapped on em today. Either way, I mean…"

"Yeah," Callie began, "but let's say he gets rid of the virus. That'd fix the game, most likely. Then all he'd have to do was write his code back into the game, and when Litwak checks the game tomorrow morning, it'd be right as rain, and _Sugar Rush _wouldn't be out-of-order anymore."

"Exactly," Calhoun said. "See why I'm caught between a rock and a hard place, here? Seems like a lose-lose situation, but I know there's got to be _some_thing I'm not thinking of."

The girls sat in silence for a moment, deep in thought. Katie twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger, chewing at the inside of her cheek. Callie picked at the rash on the side of her face and stared intently at a rivet in the floor. Calhoun slid her eyes shut with an almost inaudible sigh.

"Just throwing this out there," Callie said, breaking the silence. "But how did he act when you bribed him? Excited?"

Calhoun allowed herself a tiny smile. "He was trying to hide it, but I could tell he was looking forward to it. Asking me all these questions about how fast our rovers go and who was going to race against him. And as soon as I agreed to let him take one of them out and race with it, he got straight to work."

Katie sat up in the bed. "Okay, so bribe him again!"

"You say that like I've got something else to give him," Calhoun said. "I was grabbing at straws when I came up with the whole rover idea. The only other thing he'd want is his freedom, and there's no way _that's _happening."

"But think about it," Callie said. "Sitting in that cell all day and all night, except for when he gets to do his community service, has got to be really boring. Maybe we could…I dunno, loosen his leash a little? Give him more privileges around here?"

"I doubt he'd be satisfied with anything we could offer him," Calhoun said.

"Again, this is kind of out there," Callie said, "but have you heard the thing about giving criminals responsibility? When they have a goal to work towards, they start respecting rules and whatnot. Because if they don't, they go right back in the slammer."

Katie gave a little gasp, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, letting them dangle there. "Let's make him one of us!"

"You mean make him one of my soldiers?" Calhoun scoffed. "Why would he want to do that?"

"It's either that, or jail," Katie said with a shrug. "I bet if you let him be a mechanic with Callie, he'd jump at the opportunity. He loves cars. Surely he'd rather hang out in the garage all day than in a jail cell."

"Let's just say he _does _agree to help us, in exchange for letting him out of his cell and putting him to work. What would keep him from completely destroying _Sugar Rush _code when he gets in there?"

"Send us in there with him," Callie offered.

"I thought of that," Calhoun said. "He needs his hands to work. We can't cuff him."

"Maybe not _cuffing_ him," Katie said. "But put me in charge of one of Turbo's arms, and Callie in charge of the other. He could tell us where to move em. And if we think he's up to something, well…" She shrugged. "We can stop him."

"I don't know," Calhoun said. "Sounds a little far-fetched. I think Turbo would still be able to weasel his way out of it. He's pretty crafty."

"Yeah," Callie said. "How would we know what code is what? We'd be taking him at his word, and he could just…rip the whole game apart, and we'd never know. We can't read binary."

"So take one of the techies with us," Katie said. "Who was the one who found the Cy-virus in the first place? Denise? Take her with us. She can give us the go-ahead on all of Turbo's movements before he does them. That way, we'll know if he's lying or not."

"This just sounds like a huge mess to me," Calhoun admitted, rubbing at her temples. "But we're running out of time, so…we might have to try it. There's one other person I need to run this by, though. And she aint gonna like it, I can already tell you that."

"Who?" Katie said.

Calhoun sighed. "Vanellope."

* * *

**Author's Note: **It's still very dialogue-heavy, I know, but I can't seem to make the story go forward without it. Plus, I like writing dialogue, so I guess it's okay for now. But I'm gonna work on putting more detail in my stuff, I promise! A lot of people describe the setting and stuff when they write, and I kinda just jump over that. As my high school English teacher would say, I need to "paint a picture" with my words a little more. But I'm trying!

And I put a little more Turbo in this chapter, yay.


	14. Chapter 14

**Warnings: **None

* * *

Vanellope was sitting up in bed now. Her face was a pearly pale, making the dark rings around her eyes much more pronounced. She picked and pulled at a stray string protruding from her blanket.

Ralph hated seeing her so upset. "You couldn't help it," he mumbled to her. He fought the urge to extend an index finger and ruffle her candy-sticky hair, give her a pat on the back,_ some_thing, but he could sense that she didn't want to be touched at the moment. She probably wanted to be left completely alone, too—he knew _he'd_ want to be—but he just couldn't bear to leave her.

"I know," Vanellope replied, but she didn't sound very convinced. She looked over at her friend with sad eyes. "I mean, I know I didn't…didn't do all that on purpose, or anything, but it _is _kinda my fault we got the out-of-order." Her eyes fell back to her lap, where she resumed pulling at the loose blanket string.

Ralph frowned. He felt so useless. He just wished he could make her feel better. Somehow.

"Don't think that way," he offered. "You never would've done something like that on purpose, you know that."

"Well, yeah, but…" She sighed. "It's just that I'm the _president_, y'know? I'm supposed to be the one everybody can turn to when there's trouble. Not the one who _makes _the trouble." She rubbed at her eyes with her fists. She was generally tired of everything.

Now Ralph did reach over, giving her the slightest pat on the back. "Wish you weren't being so hard on yourself," he said. "We'll get this figured out, kid. Promise."

Suddenly, Vanellope threw the blanket off her legs, banishing it to the foot of the bed. "I'm not gonna get anything done just sitting here," she huffed. "I'm going over to Calhoun. Maybe I can get her to speed stuff up, or somethin." She hopped out of bed and headed for her bedroom door.

"Sure you feel like it?" Ralph asked her, standing up from his seat on the floor. "I could—"

"I feel fine," Vanellope said in a dismissive tone, trying her best at a reassuring smile. But Ralph could tell by the look in her eyes that she was anything but.

She put her hand on the knob, only to have it turn of its own accord in her grip. The door was pulled open, revealing a furrow-browed Calhoun in the doorway.

"Hey," Vanellope said with a forced smile. "Just the lady I was looking for." The girl took a step back, ushering Calhoun into the room. "Uh, welcome to my kingdom," she added as the sergeant took in the gigantic bedroom. Calhoun smiled to herself as she noted two Ralph-sized chairs—one in the corner in the midst of a stuffed animal shrine, and the other pulled up at the bedside.

"Heya, Van," Calhoun said. "Saw the out-of-order sign out there." The sergeant frowned. "Sorry, kiddo."

"Yeah," Vanellope mumbled, looking down at her shoes. Her happy act vanished as quickly as it had surfaced. "You don't gotta say you're sorry. Not your fault."

Calhoun knelt down to meet Vanellope's eye level as best she could. "It _is _kinda my fault. My game"—she jabbed her thumb into her chestplate—"is my responsibility. I may not know how this Cy-virus got over here, but it surely wasn't anything _you _did. And I promise I'll take care of it."

"Cy-virus…" Ralph mumbled. "So…it _is _some kinda _Hero's Duty _virus? From your game?"

Calhoun sighed, nodding slightly. "Seems so. Don't worry, though. We're on top of this problem as we speak. That's why I'm here, actually." She looked back down at Vanellope. "I have to ask you something."

"I don't like the sound of that," Vanellope said, wincing at Calhoun's words.

"I know," Calhoun said. "But I'll be honest with you, since I'm sure you'd prefer it that way. My tech team…has a new member."

"Yeah?" Vanellope said. "Who?"

But all it took was for Calhoun to shift her eyes away from Vanellope's gaze. Then Vanellope knew.

"Wait. You're not—"

"Hang on, Van," Calhoun said in an attempt at a calming tone. "Don't get so worked up just yet. We decided—"

"How could you let…how could you…just, how _could _you?" she whispered. "Look, I know you're trying to help me, and I appreciate that, I really do, but I don't want—"

Vanellope was rambling now. Calhoun interrupted her, saying, "Turbo knows this game's code better than anybody else."

But the words came out too harsh, hitting Vanellope like a bucket of icy water. Calhoun needed to backpedal a little. "That came out wrong. But Turbo knows exactly how this game's set up, and he thinks he knows how to fix it."

Vanellope shook her head. She was smiling a joyless smile. "And you actually trust him?" The girl let out a dry laugh. "What've I ever done for him? In case ya don't remember, because of me, he's not king of this game anymore. Plus, I kinda threw him in my dungeon. So I think it's safe to say he's not very keen on helping me out, here."

"Trust me, I've thought of that," Calhoun reassured her. "And I don't blame you for not wanting him back in here, believe you me, but I'll make sure there's no funny business."

"Hang on," Vanellope said. "Back _in _here? Why would he have to come _in _here?" Vanellope started pacing. She was worrying herself into walking a short line back and forth in front of Calhoun. But soon, her thoughts consumed her so much that she couldn't even manage to do that. She flopped herself to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

Calhoun took no joy in putting the girl through this, but there wasn't a way around it. She, too, sat down on the ground, cross-legged in front of Vanellope.

"Look. Turbo thinks he can remove the Cy-virus if he takes a look at the code room."

Vanellope opened her mouth to retort that statement, but Calhoun beat her to the punch. "And I think it's worth a shot, given the circumstances. We're…kind of pressed for time."

"There's no way I'm letting him back in that code room," Vanellope said firmly, crossing her arms.

Calhoun could understand Vanellope's reasoning, but they were a bit short on options at the moment. The sergeant nodded in agreement. "He'll be restrained, I assure you. Two of my most trusted soldiers will go into the code room with him and adjust the code for him. He'll tell them what to do, then they do it. I won't let him touch it."

"And so, what, Turbo's supposed to find the bad code and take it out?" Vanellope asked.

"He thinks that once he gets a good look at the game's binary, he can find the Cy-virus and delete it. I hate to say it, but in light of the circumstances…I think you should let him try."

Vanellope was silent. She was at war with her thoughts. It went without saying that she didn't want Turbo back in the code room, after all he'd done to the game…to _her_…but now her game was out-of-order. Who was to say that Litwak wouldn't reset the game tomorrow? What would that mean for her, for her friends, for all the candy citizens? Would they still be the same people, with the same memories? Would she remember her past? More importantly, would she remember her new friends?

Maybe having Turbo try and fix the game was worth the risk. She _was _president. She had a responsibility to protect all characters of _Sugar Rush _if she had it in her power to do so.

"But how're you gonna convince Turbo to help?" Vanellope asked, getting to her feet now. Her nerves were too alight to sit still for long. "Why would he even think about it?"

"He's easily bribed," Calhoun said simply. "It won't take much to win him over."

Vanellope still wasn't convinced. But deep down, she knew what she'd have to do.

"And you don't think your science-y people can make a cure in time?" Vanellope asked.

Calhoun stood up, shaking her head as she righted her posture. "Not before the start of the arcade day tomorrow, I'm afraid."

"So what you're saying," Ralph said, who'd remained silent until that point, "is that Vanellope doesn't have a choice." There was a tinge of anger in his voice.

"It's okay, Ralph," Vanellope said, fanning her palms in Ralph's direction. Ralph looked slightly ashamed at letting his temper get the best of him, but he'd always be overprotective of his kid. He pursed his lips into a thin line, but resolved to keep quiet.

Vanellope turned back to Calhoun now. "And what if…what if Turbo _can't _get rid of the Cy-virus, though? Are we really gonna put _this _much faith in…_Turbo_?"

"I know exactly what you mean," Calhoun agreed. "And under normal circumstances, I wouldn't even think about attempting it. If, for whatever reason, Turbo doesn't succeed…I'll monitor the arcade situation myself." Her next sentence was low and even, very grave-sounding and foreboding. "We may need to have everyone evacuate _Sugar Rush_."

Just the thought of it made Vanellope want to cry, but years of toughening up her emotions made tears nearly impossible. She nodded, her decision made. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect my citizens."

Even though the situation was very serious, Calhoun smiled at Vanellope. She reached down and clapped a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Proud of you. You're a great president. I mean that."

Vanellope returned the smile, and this time, she didn't have to force it. Even though Calhoun didn't call herself a president, she still ran her own game with a level head. Vanellope felt confident in placing her trust in the woman.

There were lots of things she wanted to say to Calhoun, but she couldn't find the words she needed. She settled on saying, "thanks," and extending her pudgy hand for a handshake. Calhoun gladly encircled her hand around the girl's, pumping her arm up and down in three quick jerks. It was so strong a handshake that it knocked Vanellope's teeth together, but that was fine by her. It felt sincere, and that was what mattered.

"I need to get back," Calhoun said. "I'll take care of things from here. Expect me back in two hours."

Calhoun turned to leave, but Vanellope had one more question for the sergeant. "Should I tell everybody what's about to happen? Should I get them ready?"

Calhoun didn't even have to think about it. "You can make the final decision, but I'd advise against it. It'd only cause widespread panic. Better keep it quiet, for now."

Vanellope nodded. "Right."

"You just sit tight," Calhoun assured her. "I'll take it from here."

Again, Vanellope bobbed her head up and down in agreement. "Got it."

Grinning, Calhoun took another look at the giant chair surrounded by stuffed animals in the corner. "Maybe while you're waiting, you and Wreck-it could have a tea party."

"Don't give her any ideas," Ralph said, but his words were halfhearted at best. He was already crossing the room to his chair. Behind the chair, mounted to the wall, was a hat rack stocked with wide-brimmed, ribboned, feathered, sequined ensembles, half of the selections tailored to fit Ralph's large head. "Which hat should I wear today? I think I like one with the green bow and the peacock feathers the best." He put on the hat in question. "Whaddya think, kid?"

"Nah, you need the fluffy pink one," Vanellope said, bits of her old self coming back to the surface. She ran over to the hat rack and pointed. "And let me wear this one. We'll be twinkies."

Ralph caught Calhoun's eye and gave her a discrete nod. Calhoun reciprocated the gesture, adding a slight wave as she left the room, Vanellope and Ralph debating on whether they should have strawberry or vanilla milk for their "tea" party.

**{*}**

"Listen up," Calhoun said, leaning across the table. Turbo's eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his helmet, he raised them so high. "This is more important than I could ever stress to you. We _have _to get that virus out of _Sugar Rush_. Tonight."

"You can do it," Katie said, her metallic pink eye shadow glinting in the dull light of the tech room.

"Yeah," Callie agreed. Some kind of thick paste covered the rash on her face. It might not've been the most attractive of looks, but at least she wasn't scratching or picking at it, for a change.

"So how're we doing this?" Turbo asked, splaying his palms on the metal table.

"That's a surprise," Calhoun muttered under her breath. Katie covered her mouth to stifle a giggle, while Callie smiled a slight smile.

"What's a surprise?" Turbo said, confused. He hated being the odd man out. He had no idea what these ladies were talking about. "I'm lost, I guess," he huffed, irritated.

"Nothing," Calhoun said. "It's just that we figured you'd want to know what your reward was, before we got down to business."

Turbo grinned. "Rewards are nice." Truthfully, he'd assumed up to this point that he'd simply be shot on sight and left at The Glitch's doorstep if he tried to argue against Calhoun, but he wasn't about to let it slip that he was intending to work for free. He'd prefer to milk this thing, if at all possible.

It was Callie who answered, instead of Calhoun. "You get to work with me, dude."

Turbo blanched, just a little taken aback by her answer. "No offense, but how exactly is that a reward?"

"C'mon," Callie said, looking a little sour at him. "Would you rather stare at the walls in your prison cell all day, or help me out in the garage?"

"I thought you _liked_ cars and stuff," Katie interjected.

"I do," Turbo clarified. "Alright, I guess…guess you do have a point. Think I'd rather get my hands dirty than go crazy in that cell. Helping Pops with his crossword puzzle's getting kinda old."

"So we've got a deal?" Calhoun asked him.

"I mean…" Turbo shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I'll give it my best shot, I mean, I can't guarantee—"

"We'll need more than your best shot," Calhoun said. "As you know, _Sugar Rush _has the out-of-order, so we've got one shot, and that's it. I need you to get into that code room and take care of that virus."

"If you really did all you say you did in _Sugar Rush _before—" Callie started.

"Which he did," Calhoun noted, disapproval in her tone.

"—then you should have no problem finding the Cy-virus in the binary," Callie finished.

Turbo opened his mouth to say something, but Calhoun beat him to talk. "And before you get any fine ideas, just know that you'll be handcuffed the entire time, so you won't be able to make a mess of things."

Again, Turbo tried to say something, but Katie could tell what he was going to ask. "Callie n me are going in there with you," she explained, beaming. "You tell us what to do, and we'll do it."

"Uh," Turbo said, finally wedging himself back into the conversation, "you do realize that the code room's kinda…cramped, right? One wrong move, and you'll ruin the entire game frame."

"We'll be careful," Callie said.

"I don't really care if you're careful or not," Turbo said simply. "Just don't hold me accountable if one of these two"—he pointed at Katie and Callie—"screws something up in there."

"We have to take that risk," Calhoun said, apparently none too thrilled about the idea, but she didn't have much choice. She rested her forehead in her palm, shutting her eyes. "Just be careful, alright?"

"What if," Katie said, "Turbo tells us to do something in there, and we're thinking it's the _right _thing to do because he _said_—"

"I know where you're going with this," Turbo said, grinning slyly. "You guys can't read code, so I could just tell you to—"

"None of that," Calhoun said, popping her eyes back open, but meeting no one's gaze. "Please, don't over-complicate this. Turbo, you behave. Katie and Callie, use common sense. If it doesn't seem right, don't do it."

While Turbo muttered impolite things under his breath, Calhoun went over the specifics of their mission. They were to transport Turbo in one of their packs, so as not to alarm the _Sugar Rush _citizens of his return. Katie and Callie would go in on either side of Turbo, essentially controlling one of Turbo's arms apiece. Turbo was to use the two soldiers as his hands, and instruct them how to rid the game of the Cy-virus. If all went well, Turbo should be able to spot the virus, tell the girls how to remove it, and delete it from the game. Once Litwak came to check on the game the next morning, he should find it right as rain.

And, of course, Turbo was to be restrained at all times, and under no circumstances should he speak to anyone within _Sugar Rush _unless spoken to.

If Turbo strayed from the mission, he was to be considered armed and dangerous and dealt with accordingly.

"I can't believe I'm doin this," Turbo said as he was shoved into Callie's pack, wrists and ankles bound by _Hero's Duty _Cybug-strength cuffs.

"Shouldn't we put something over his mouth, too?" Katie suggested.

"Ugh, please don't," Turbo said, bad memories flooding back to him so quickly that it surprised even him. But he was getting better at suppressing them, so he was able to press forward. "Seriously, you won't hear a peep outta me. You wouldn't believe…" He cleared his throat. It felt tight, all of a sudden. "…Wouldn't believe what those little shits put me through. I don't wanna make myself known in there, trust me."

Katie pressed the pad of her index finger to the tip of Turbo's nose. "You be good in there," she said. Turbo scowled at her, only breaking his icy stare when Callie zipped the top of her pack up.

Callie hefted the pack onto her shoulders. She immediately staggered backwards, pinwheeling her arms in an attempt to keep herself upright. She would've fallen, had Katie not been there to steady her.

"Should I carry him?" Katie offered.

"Uh…" Callie said sheepishly. Instinctively, her hand crept up to her rash to scratch it, but when her fingertips met the cool of the ointment slathered on the side of her face, she yanked her hand away. "Yeah, I guess you should take him, he's kinda…"

"Heavy?" Katie snickered.

"Hey," Turbo snapped from the pack, his voice muffled under layers of padding.

Katie threw the backpack onto her shoulders with ease. Many days of weapon-swinging made her more than capable of carrying it. "I got it. No problem."

As the girls walked, they discussed the mission at hand in hushed tones.

"I'm nervous," Callie admitted.

"It'll be fine," Katie said with confidence. "I'm kinda excited to see what the inside of a game looks like."

"It's cool," Turbo said.

"_Hush_, I mean it," Katie hissed. "You'll get us in trouble."

Turbo said nothing else as they made it through the tram entrance to _Sugar Rush_, carefully treading down the rainbow-colored, sour gummy tape bridge.

A strange-looking green candy with a foreboding facial expression shuffled up to them, waving his little hands in the air to get their attention.

"President Vanellope has instructed me to show you the way…" He lowered his voice. "…To the code room."

"Okay," Callie said, grinning at the thing's cuteness. She wasn't sure what kind of candy he was, but his permanently sour-looking face was endearing.

The green candy waved them on, indicating for them to follow. From the pack, Turbo smiled a little. Hearing his old pal's voice brought a warmth to him that he never expected to feel from this place again. A longing, sickening feeling…something he wished he wasn't feeling, at the moment.

_How'd I even get myself into this_, Turbo thought, closing his eyes. The pack was warm, and Katie's rhythmic footsteps were jostling him in a hypnotic way. He could almost take a nap…

"This place smells good," Callie whispered to Katie as they followed the green candy.

"I was just thinking that," Katie smiled, nodding in agreement. She pointed up at the sky. "Look at the clouds, they're that cotton candy stuff."

"Ah, cool, check out that fence, it's made out of candy canes—"

The girls marveled at the various _Sugar Rush _scenery, and it was then that the gravity of their situation began to settle in for the both of them. They _had _to save this game. It was a work of art. Not to mention the thousands of candy citizens and the racers in the game…sure, _Hero's Duty _had plenty of soldiers, but not on this kind of scale.

Before they knew it, they were walking into the castle. Even from a distance, the two of them noticed Wreck-it Ralph up ahead. Neither of them had ever really talked to him, but they definitely recognized him.

When Ralph noticed them approaching, he walked the rest of the distance to meet them at the archway to the throne room.

"Hey," he said. "Uh…" He scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to explain himself tactfully. "Just to be honest, uh, Van—_President _Vanellope, that is—well, she kinda doesn't want to be anywhere near Turbo, so…me and Sour Bill here'll be helping you guys out."

Katie slid the backpack off her shoulders and unzipped Turbo, heaving him up by the armpits, holding him up for Ralph to see. Turbo felt like a new puppy everyone in the room was ogling at. He averted his gaze, staring at the (very familiar) salmon-colored floor.

"We've got him locked up good n tight," Katie said brightly.

"I hope so," Ralph said. "Anyway, code room's this way." He ushered toward an open entryway just behind Vanellope's throne room. "You, uh…you ladies ready to go?"

Callie nodded. She could tell that Wreck-it Ralph was extremely worried, and who could blame him? She knew she needed to act confident, even if she wasn't feeling so brave.

Katie tucked Turbo under her left arm, freeing up her right hand to give Callie a slap on the back. "We got this."

"We do." Callie smiled.

Katie jostled Turbo again, holding him up in front of her face. "Do _you _got this?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Pff."

Katie dismissed the lack of enthusiasm by stuffing him under her arm again. "We're ready, Wreck-it Ralph."

Ralph chuckled, the slightest glow of a blush gracing his cheeks. "Heh. Just Ralph is fine."

At their feet, the sour-faced candy shuffled through the doorway and into the hall that led to the code room. "This way."

They all followed him into the hall. Three pools of strong rope lay near the door—the strange door that had a gigantic video game controller in lieu of a handle.

"_This _is the door to the code room?" Katie marveled. "Wonder if they all look like this."

"They do," Turbo mumbled.

Katie planted Turbo on the ground, running her fingertips lightly over the controller's buttons. "Whoa."

Callie nudged his shoulder. "What's the password, dude?"

Turbo stiffened. He didn't much want to give up the password—the password he'd worked so hard to decipher. It had ended up being the Konami code, and he'd felt like an idiot for not trying that first…but still…

He cast a leery glance over his shoulder. Sour Bill knew the code, but he'd never do anything with it, Turbo was sure of that. Wreck-it, on the other hand…Turbo didn't quite trust.

Turbo twitched a nod up at Callie. "C'mere," he mumbled.

Callie leaned down, and Turbo pressed his lips directly to her ear. He whispered the password to her—slowly, clearly, quietly. Callie's face grew instantly hot, and she knew that it was beet-red. She'd never had a guy—

But there was no time to think about that. She straightened up and walked over to the game controller, where she typed in the password, feeling everyone's eyes on her.

The door slid open with a cold puff of air, and what she saw inside made her gasp.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I left it at kind of a cliffhanger, but it was getting pretty long, so I cut it off. Anyway, there were quite a few things I was trying to convey in this chapter. One, that Vanellope is president of an entire game - but she's still a kid. Another, that Turbo is kind of an asshole, but he's smart. And he _does _have feelings. And I'm trying to flesh out my OCs a little bit, too, so they're not so plain.

Alright, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It was kind of a hard one to crank out, since I was stumped for what to write more than once, but it's finally done.


	15. Chapter 15

**Warnings**: None

* * *

It was the most beautiful thing Callie and Katie had ever seen. Both of them were taken aback at the sight of it, speechless.

Inside the code room looked like something out of a psychedelic dream. Amidst a sea of black, the code room pulsed and hummed with strange life. Thick, veinlike cords connected to large data hubs. Beams of multicolored light ran the length of the cords, coming to rest in the square hubs, absorbing into them. At first glance, it looked like a tangled mess, but if one's eyes followed a cord from hub to hub, there was a semblance of order there.

"This is the whole game in one room," Turbo said, a touch of fondness in his voice.

Callie and Katie simply nodded. They were still too engrossed in the scene to look away.

Katie was jarred out of her sense of awe when she felt a thick belt of rope crossing her waist. "Sorry," Ralph said when Katie jumped in surprise. "Just thought I'd, uh…get the ball rollin, here."

"Yeah," Katie said, suddenly aware of how dumb she must've looked, standing there slack-jawed and wide-eyed, staring into the colorful abyss. "We should get moving. No time to waste."

Ralph secured a rope around Katie first, then Callie. He hesitated when he saw the rope that was supposed to be for Turbo. Katie noticed this and picked up the rope for him, knotting it around Turbo's middle.

"I'll hold on to these," Ralph said, grabbing the rope ends and closing his huge fist around them. "Just give em a tug when you want me to pull you back in."

All harnessed and ready to go, the three of them stood on the edge, looking downward into the black nothingness.

"How're we not going to fall straight down?" Callie asked.

"It feels like floating in water," Turbo said. "You'll get it when you step in."

"But I sink in water," Katie mumbled.

"The hardest part about it is stepping off the ledge for the first time," Turbo said knowingly. "Uh, if I could move my legs, I'd show you." He looked up at Callie. "Hint, hint."

Callie tore her eyes away from the black dropoff and glanced over at Turbo's ankles, which were shackled good n tight with _Hero's Duty _cuffs. Calhoun had trusted her with the key, in case a dire situation called for actually unlocking Turbo's bindings, but she wasn't sure if this qualified as such.

"Whaddyou think?" Callie asked Katie. "Unlock just his legs? Just so he can show us how…" Again, she looked down into the dark. "…To do this?"

"If I had my arms free, I could _really _show you how," Turbo suggested.

"I don't think so," Katie said, giving him a light smack on the back of his helmet. "Yeah, just the legs," Katie said. "Otherwise we might not get the hang of this in time. Or we'll mess something up in there, either one."

"Plus," Sour Bill, who had materialized at their feet, said, "Turbo wouldn't stay afloat without either his arms or legs, so you'd have to hold him."

Despite the situation, Callie had the fleeting thought that Sour Bill's monotone voice was adorable. "We wouldn't want that," she said as she reached into her pocket for the key. She undid Turbo's ankle cuffs, stuffing the cuffs into her pack and the key back into her pocket. "No funny business," she warned Turbo.

"Yeah, yeah," Turbo said. He stepped up to the edge of the code room. "Anyway, this is a piece of cake. You just—"

Without hesitation, he leaned forward, letting himself fall into the blackness. Something invisible seemed to catch him in mid-fall, holding him aloft. He pedaled his feet to keep his body balanced. He'd forgotten how it felt to be in a code room—weightless and powerful. It was almost too much.

With a twist of his hips, he pivoted around to face the girls. "Coming?"

Katie was the first to give it a try. She held her breath and pinched her nose shut, like jumping into actual water. Once her body left the safety of the ledge, she sank straight down about two feet. She let out a squeak, flailing her arms and legs as she gradually gained her bearings. Her shriek of fright faded into a nervous giggle as she discovered she was no longer falling.

"This is weird," she said. Much like swimming, she fanned her arms forward and back, propelling herself toward Turbo. But she was going too fast, unable to stop herself. Turbo jutted his leg out, catching her by the middle before she could fly into the code.

"Whoa," Katie said, breathless. "I nearly crashed and burned."

"Nearly destroyed the game, actually," Turbo mused. "I only stopped you cause the electric shock probably would've killed you."

Katie grimaced. "Good to know."

Now Callie entered the code room. Instead of jumping in like Katie had, she opted to put one foot in first, feeling the strange buoyant air catch her leg before swinging the other one in.

She stuck her arms out to steady herself. "How do I…uh…how do I make myself go?"

Katie laughed. "It's like swimming, just try it."

With quite a bit of difficulty, Callie dog-paddled her way over to Katie and Turbo.

"You guys got it?" Turbo asked. "You ready to start?"

"As ready as we'll ever be, I think," Callie said. Katie nodded in agreement, pigtails bobbing.

"Alright," Turbo said. Using his legs, he kicked his way over to the central data hub, where the majority of the cables and beams of light were flowing from. "See this thing? One of ya needs to push it. With a bare hand. Doesn't work with gloves."

"I will," Katie said, almost eagerly. She pressed a button at her wrist and the armor on her hand folded into itself, disappearing under her cuff. She put her palm on the hub. At her touch, the hub let out a soft _ping_, seeming to explode pure data out its top. A series of holographic screens—ten in total—sprang to life, glowing ghostly blue in the dark of the room.

"Why is it _sticky_?" Katie said, rubbing her thumb against the center of her palm.

But her comment went unnoticed. Callie and Turbo were both studying the holographic screens floating above the central game hub.

"You think the Cy-virus is in one of these?" Callie asked Turbo.

"It'd have to be," Turbo murmured, studying the screens with a furrowed brow. "Let's try the 'Characters' folder first."

Katie reached a hand up, hovered it over the holographic screen labeled 'Characters.' "Just touch it?"

Turbo nodded. "Yep. Good a place to start as any."

Katie pressed the screen with her palm again, and yet more glowing menus sprang from the hub. Turbo nodded. Katie and Callie weren't seeing what he was seeing in this jumbled mess, but Turbo was obviously right at home.

"Now hit 'Playable.'"

There was, indeed, a screen labeled 'Playable,' and Katie pushed it. From this square came small, purple screens, each labeled with a racer's name.

Turbo's mouth was a thin line. "Push 'Vanellope von Schweetz.'"

Katie did. A tall, hazy green screen burst forth, full of nothing but zeroes and ones.

"I'm guessing this is binary," Callie mumbled.

Turbo was distracted, already beginning to read the numbers, so he answered her in a distant mumble. "This…is binary."

His hand jerked in his cuff, wanting to reach out and touch a particular line of code. "Fifth line…grab it."

"_Grab _it?" Katie said.

Turbo was trying hard to relay the directions without breaking his concentration. "Y…yeah."

Katie shrugged, taking Turbo's words at face value. She had her hand outstretched when she suddenly had a thought. She yanked her hand away from the line of code, eyes wide.

"Hey," she said, directing the declaration at Callie. "How do we know that when I pull this chunk of code out, that the whole game's not gonna come crashing down on our heads?"

"I was just about to tell you," Callie said. "I've got _this _thing."

From the side pocket of her armor, Callie retrieved a palm-sized device, compact and square and insignificant-looking. She pressed a button on the top-right corner of the square, and the device's screen glowed a backlit gray.

"What's that?" Katie asked, eyeing the strange, unimpressive thing in Callie's hand.

"Calhoun gave it to me before we left _Hero's Duty_," Callie said. "Honestly, I didn't think we'd need it—I thought the Cybugs would be more…obvious to spot, I guess. That's why I hadn't said anything about it before just now."

"So…what's it do?" Katie said.

"Well," Callie said, looking at the thing as if she wasn't really sure. "Calhoun told me it's a binary reader. The tech team kinda threw it together at the last minute, so I guess that's why it doesn't look like much."

"Oh," Katie hummed. "We can make sure we're not taking out anything important before we actually mess something up."

Callie shrugged, which caused her body to tip to the side in the zero-gravity environment. She leaned the opposite way to compensate. "I think."

"Here," Katie said, pointing to the line of binary Turbo had indicated she should remove. "Try that one."

There were two large main buttons on the device's front—a zero and a one button. Callie typed the numbers in, squinting her eyes in an attempt to hone in on the jumble of numbers. Once she'd entered them all, she hit a green button on the side of the unit. The long string of numbers on the device disappeared, leaving a word in its place:

"MALICE."

Callie stared at the screen, confused. She showed the word to Katie.

"'Malice'?" Katie wondered.

"Apparently," Callie said. "Doesn't much sound like it really belongs in Vanellope's code, huh?"

"I don't think so," Katie said, but she didn't sound so sure. "Should I take it out?"

Callie thought for a moment. What would Turbo have to gain from lying, at this point? He could kill Vanellope, or at least corrupt the girl's code, she supposed…but that would serve him no purpose other than revenge. He might be able to succeed in destroying her from the inside out, but surely he knew the repercussions for doing so would outweigh what he'd stand to gain from it.

Wouldn't he?

Callie nodded once. "Go ahead."

Katie did as Turbo had instructed her. She used her thumb and forefinger to grab the line of binary, gripping a number zero, tugging at it. It came loose with ease, looking quite a bit like a numerical noodle.

"What should I do with it?" Katie said to Turbo, dangling it in front of his face.

That snapped Turbo out of his stupor. "That part's easy. See that red thing down there?"

All three of them looked downward. Below their feet, at the very bottom of the sprawling network, was a small, red square. Whereas the other hubs were connected with the long data tubes, the red box wasn't attached to anything, completely isolated from the rest of the gameframe.

"Just put it in there," Turbo said simply.

"Put it in, how?"

Effortlessly, Turbo tilted his body backward, floating down to the red square. With some squirming and struggling, Katie followed him down, keeping the line of code at arm's length. It was beginning to grow hot, warming her fingertips to an uncomfortable temperature.

Turbo cocked his head at the red hub. "Touch it."

Katie did. Instead of popping up an array of menus like the other screens, it merely opened up an empty, faintly scarlet menu.

"…And drop it in."

"That easy?" Katie said in disbelief.

Turbo nodded. "Yep."

She pushed the line of problem binary into the gelatinous screen, where it was quickly swallowed up by the strange, opaque substance. Not a trace of it remained.

"And now we repeat. Haul me back up, wouldja?"

And so the three of them worked to clean Vanellope's folder. Turbo located the problem code, Callie scanned the numbers, and Katie grabbed them out and pushed them into the deletion hub. They repeated the motions for what seemed like a thousand times. At the close of their second hour of work, Vanellope's code was deemed Cy-virus free by Turbo.

Katie wiped her forehead with her forearm. Swimming through the void was getting tiresome. "Can we take a break?" she said, sucking in a haggard breath. "I'm super tired."

"I think we could take a few minutes to rest," Callie said. "Let's have Ralph reel us in for a sec."

Callie and Katie tugged on their ropes and Ralph pulled them back to the hallway, whereas Turbo tried to scramble his way back using just his legs, refusing Wreck-it's help. Rolling her eyes, Callie grabbed him by the arm and carted him back with her.

"Well?" Ralph said eagerly. "How's it lookin in there?"

"Turbo says we got all of the virus out of Vanellope's code," Katie said, smiling warmly.

Ralph's face exploded in a grin. But his excitement was short-lived; his smile fell into a frown. "How do we know he's telling the truth, though?"

Neither of the girls knew the actual answer to that, but luckily Callie thought of something to say. "I guess we'll have to ask Vanellope herself how she feels. Surely that'd be an indication."

Ralph seemed to agree with that idea. "Think she'd be able to tell a difference already?"

Callie looked down at Turbo, gave his helmet a nudge with the brunt of her palm. He flicked his eyes up at her, nodding once, an almost undetectable jerk of the head.

"I gotta go check on her," Ralph said hurriedly. "You guys take five. And keep an eye on _him_." He jabbed a thick finger at Turbo. He turned on his heel and stomped off toward the end of the hallway.

"Now that Ralph's gone," Sour Bill droned to Turbo, "do you _really _think you got all the virus out of Vanellope's code?"

Turbo huffed an agitated sigh. "Look, did I _want _to help that brat? No. I didn't. Did I have a _choice_?" He raised his eyebrows at his sour friend. "No."

"You mean, you don't want one of these lovely ladies to murder you with their bare hands tonight?"

Turbo smiled sweetly. "I do not."

"So," Katie said. "If it took that long to finish up _one _folder of data…we're gonna be here all night, aren't we?"

"At least," Turbo said.

"Well, we've got until eight tomorrow morning. Surely we can get it done."

"Shall I brew some coffee?" Sour Bill offered.

"Would you really?" Katie beamed. "That'd be really great."

With a curt nod, Sour Bill scuttled off to the _Sugar Rush _kitchens. Turbo sighed. "He does make a good cup of coffee," he noted.

"We're gonna need it," Katie groaned.

And it would be a long night indeed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So glad I finally got this done. I've started a new job and I've been out of it, lately. Sorry it took me so long to crank this out, but I'm pretty pleased with this chapter, anyhow. I really do hope I can get the next chapter up in a more timely manner. :(


End file.
